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POEMS 



BY 



LUCY HAMILTON HOOPER. 




PHILADELPHIA: 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 
1871. 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., 
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 



hx§ fjolnme 



IS DEDICATED TO 



MRS. HENRY D. GILPIN, 

AS A SLIGHT MARK OF ESTEEM AND ADMIRATION, 



BY 



THE AUTHOR. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

The Fifth Act of " The Huguenots" 9 

The Duel 12 

Autumnal Lyrics ........ 14 

Revelry . . . . . . . . . .18 

My Baby 20 

The Mask of Plaster 22 

Imploro Pacem . . . . • . . . . 25 

Re-United . . . . . . . . . .26 

Without and Within 28 

In Vain .......... 30 

To. R. M. H. . 32 

Ich Habe Geliebet ........ 35 

In Memory of H. A. C. . . . . . . . 38 

Too Late .......... 41 

Leonora d'Este . . . . . . . . . 43 

On an Old Portrait 47 

Jealousy . . . . . . . . .48 

The Last Kiss . .51 

The Voyage of Life ........ 53 

(v) 



vi CONTENTS. 

r 

PAGE 

A Winter Tale 55 

Faust to Marguerite 57 

The Giving of the Goblet 60 

On a Portrait of Heine 62 

The King's Ride 63 

An Old Story 65 

At the Bal Mabille 67 

Garden and Balcony ........ 69 

Gretchen . . . . . . . . . .71 

Elsinore .......... 73 

Wasted Love ......... 76 

Genesis, Chapter V. . . . . . . . . 79 

My Destiny 81 

Adam Lux .......... 84 

After the War 87 

After the Ball 89 

Ophelia . . . . . . . . . .92 

Nemesis .......... 95 

The Protestant Wind 97 

To Longfellow ......... 99 

Madame La Duchesse . . . . . . .102 

Job, Chap. X VI., Verse 2 106 

The Neglected Grave 108 

Princess and Page . . . . . . . .111 

Lemira . . . . . . . . . .114 



CONTENTS. 



VII 



PAGE 

A Presentiment . . . . . . . . .116 

Miserrimus . . . . . . . . . .118 

The Singer 121 

The Triumph of Death 123 

A Vision of the Hour . . . . . . . .126 

The Modern Belshazzar 129 

TRANSLATIONS. 



The Minstrel's Song 

The Stars . 

Touch Not . 

Yearning 

The Two Angels 

Autumnal Musings 

Too Old . 

Seest Thou the Sea? 

Farewell 

The Water-Lily . 

Pergolese . 

The Two Kings . 

My Songs . 

Frederick the Great at 

Bothwell . 

Julin . 



Sans 



Souci 



Geibel. 


133 


a 


I36 


tt 


*37 


a 


139 


a 


142 


it 


144 


a 


146 


n 


148 


a 


149 


a 


151 


a 


152 


a 


155 


a 


156 


a 


157 


a 


160 


a 


162 



viii CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Dante ........ Geibel. 164 

I and Thou "166 

The Castle of Eger ...... Fontane. 168 

The. Fisher Goethe. 172 

The Singers ...... Scherenberg. 174 

The King of Thule Goethe. 175 

Thekla — A Spirit Voice ..... Schiller. 177 

"Fair Hedwig" Hebbel 179 

In the Graveyard ...... Vogl. 182 

Lines Written in a Copy of the Divina Corn- 
media Victor Hugo. 184 

To a Traveler " 185 

Gastibelza " 189 

A Legend of the Centuries ....." 193 



THE FIFTH ACT OF "THE HUGUE- 
NOTS." 

VALENTINE TO RAOUL. 

Thou hast spurned the life I proffer, and I go to death 

with thee ; 
Thou my faith hast long forsaken — to thy God I bend 

my knee. 
I will show thee in this moment how a woman's heart 

can love ; 
And the faith this night hath given, I this night in 

heav'n will prove. 

For a little space j:he crimson tide of slaughter ebbs 

away; 
Thine in love, and thine in faith, by thy side I kneel 

to pray ; 
Faithful friend and noble soldier, bless thy children 

ere they die — 
Ere we tread the gory pathway spread before us to 

the sky. 

2 (9) 



IO THE FIFTH ACT OF "THE HUGUENOTS." 

Clasp me closer, beloved ! Fold my throbbing 

heart to thine ; 
See along the lurid city how our wedding torches 

shine ; 
And the anthems of our bridal cleave the midnight's 

shuddering breath : 
Lo, the priest waits to unite us — that pale priest whose 

name is Death ! 

Ay, behold my second bridal- — it is fairer than the 

first; 
Then my soul with bitter mem'ries and with yearnings 

wild was curst. 
Sweeter far the murderous midnight and the martyr's 

couch of pain 
Than the barges' silken glories gliding down the 

smiling Seine. 

Better far the martyr's glory and the grave's triumphant 

rest, 
Better thus to pass to heaven with my head upon thy 

breast, 
Than to tread Life's thorny mazes with toil-worn and 

weary feet, 
Than to mask my life-long loneliness in glittering 

deceit. 



THE FIFTH ACT OF "THE HUGUENOTS." n 

See the torches shine advancing, flashing down the 

narrow street ; 
Nearer shout the murderous voices, nearer come the 

hurrying feet. 
Closer, closer clasp me, Raoul ; lay my head upon thy 

breast ; 
Never more on earth we'll sever — Death is with us — 

Death and rest ! 



THE DUEL. 

You need not turn so pale, love ; I'm unhurt. 

We quarreled at the opera last night 
About some trifle. Nay, I scarce know what. 

We men will quarrel for the merest slight. 
We settled time, place, weapon on the spot ; 

Bois de Boulogne, this morning, pistols — well, — 
I fear that you are cold, you shudder so, — 

At the first shot my adversary fell, 

Shot through the heart stone-dead. Nay, now don't 
faint ! 

I hate a fainting woman. Here's your fan ; 
A little water? So you're better now. 

Pray, hear my story out, love, if you can. 
I think he uttered something as he fell : 

A woman's name — I scarcely caught the sound : 
It passed so quickly that I am not sure, 

For he was dead before he reached the ground. 

Ah, poor de Courcy ! Handsome, was he not ? 
A favorite with the ladies, I believe. 

(12) 



THE DUEL. 

They'll miss him sadly. More than one fair dame 
Will o'er his sudden fate in secret grieve. 

How well he looked this morning, as he stood 
Waiting my fire with such a careless grace, 

The breezes playing with his raven curls, 

The sunshine lighting up his gay bright face ! 

Suppose my hand had trembled ? If it had, 

I would have fallen instead of him. You're white 
At the bare thought. Nay, here I am, quite well, 

And ready for the opera to-night. 
Ronconi plays, and I would like to see 

" Marie de Rohan" once or twice again. 
His acting as De Chevreuse is sublime ; 

How he portrays the jealous husband's pain ! 

All husbands have not such a wife as you ; 

Fair as the sun, and chaste as winter's moon ! 
How very pale you still are, dearest wife ! 

There is no danger of another swoon ? 
How wrong I was to tell you I had fought ; 

I think you've scarce recovered from the shock. 
One kiss upon your brow, and then I'll go ; 

And pray be ready, love, at eight o'clock ! 



13 






AUTUMNAL LYRICS. 

SEPTEMBER, 

O fairest of the seasons, thou art here ! 

We crown thee queen, and joy to greet thy sway ! 
Tkou lay'st thy cool hand on the brow of Earth 

And the fierce summer fever dies away. 

O linger with us, Autumn ! Sighing Spring 
Goes like a weeping phantom through the land ; 

And Summer comes enrobed in Tropic flame \ 
And chill the clasp of Winter's frozen hand. 

But thou, O thou of sunsets cold and clear ! 

And veiled skies, soft as a mother's smile, 
Dost loving bend o'er this thy favored land, 

Leave us not yet. O linger still awhile ! 

The forest caught the colors of the clouds ' 
When the last summer sunsets died away ; 

And now as bright a couch is spread to greet 
The dying year as waits the dying day. 
(14) 



AUTUMNAL LYRICS. 



is 



Leave us not yet. Still for a little space 

Pause o'er the land that gladdens 'neath thy reign. 

But vain our prayer. E'en now the herald winds 
Sound the approach of Winter's icy train. 

Spring into Summer ripens ; Summer dies 
In thy embrace, O golden-glowing Fall ! 

But Nature pauses with her last best gift : 
O'er Autumn's bosom Winter folds the pall. 



OCTOBER. 

The sunset of the seasons glows around us, 

And Autumn wanders musing through the bowers, 

Dropping o'er mount and forest hues resplendent, 
Once worn in pride by Summer's vanished flowers. 

The Summer, slow retreating from the heavens, 
Returns a space, earth's beauty to behold, 

And through the mist of parting tears she sendeth 
One last fond smile to haunts beloved of old. 

Like the Egyptian queen in ancient story, 
That garbed herself all royally to die, 

The year around her folds her robes of beauty 
And stands a queen beneath the pallid sky; 



j6 autumnal lyrics., 

And round her regal form, like hushed attendants, 
The forests stand in anguished moanings tost, 

For 'neath her splendor heaves to death her bosom, 
Smote by the aspic of th' untimely frost. 

Like Caesar, soon will come the chill December, 
To gaze upon her form whence life is fled ; 

And the wild winds that wail around her dying 
Will shriek in anguish o'er the bright Year dead. 






NOVEMBER. 

The day, new Niobe, has wept to death — 

Gray stonelike clouds are piled above her tomb ; 

Like some wild weeper rushing forth distraught, 
The east wind hurries, sobbing, through the gloom, 

The old trees raise their skeleton arms to heaven, 
Praying for sunshine, and the sky has none ; 

The sea is mourning for the Summer's death ; 
Far in the distance sounds his sullen moan. 

But yester-e'en the woods in beauty stood ; 

The sun looked down on earth with veiled rays ; 
Bright vestured Autumn walked amid the bowers, 

And the shy maple blushed beneath his gaze. 



AUTUMNAL LYRICS. I? 

Gone now the glory. Through the naked boughs 
The storm -wind rushes with a sobbing moan ; 

Stripped of his gold and crimson, Autumn stands, 
A chained captive, before Winter's throne. 

A little longer, and the year shall lay 

A snowy slab above her bright son's head, 

And Winter write, with frozen hand and slow, 

" Here, slain by me, lies Autumn with the dead !" 



REVELRY. 

Fill the cup till o'er the brim 

Flows the bright champagne. 
Here's forgetfulness of grief, 

Balm for every pain. 
Drink ! we watch the dying hours 

Of the dying year. 
She I loved is dead and gone. 

Dead — and I am here ! 

Change the flask, and fill the glass 

With the red Lafitte. 
If there's Lethe upon earth, 

This — O this is it ! 
Drink ! till o'er the purple skies 

Morning flushes clear. 
You are dead, O love of mine ! 

Dead — and I am here ! 

Pass the dusky Cognac here, 
Fill a stronger draught, 

(18) 



REVELRY. jg 



Richer with the vine's hot life 
Than the last we quaffed. 

Drink ! till Mem'ry's phantoms pale 
Fade and disappear. 

Drink ! till I forget she's dead ! 
Dead — and I am here ! 



MY BABY. 

Asleep my little baby lies — 

My bud new fallen from the skies, 

My pearl just brought from ocean's shell. 
Fond similes, — they crowd apace 
As close I press the tiny face 

And little form we love so well. 

She is our first-born, this fair girl, 
This little paly human pearl ; 

This best of all gifts Heaven e'er brought. 
O Life was all unfinished 
Ere in its woof this golden thread 

By kindly angel hands was wrought. 

God sent her in autumnal hours, 
When heavily the fading flowers 

Drooped 'neath the chilling touch of frost. 
'Mid wailing wind and leafless bower 
Awoke to life our little flower : 

A sweeter bud than earth had lost. 

(20) 



MY BABY. 21 

Now Summer's breath her soft hair stirs : 
Not yet a twelvemonth's life is hers ; 

O baby, ours so short a space ! 
What wond'rous gift of magic power, 
What royal crown, what golden dower, 

Could ever fill thy vacant place ? 

God, pluck not back thy little flower ! 
O Monarch Death, thou hast a dower 

Of many a rare and radiant gem ! 
Spare, spare to us our little pearl, 
Our dearest treasure, this fair girl ; 

This one sweet blossom on Life's stem ! 






THE MASK OF PLASTER. 

Travelers at Dresden are shown a plaster cast taken from Napoleon's face 
immediately after death. 

Thus looked the dead. Thus did Napoleon lie. 

O cold imperial face ! 

E'en death could not erase 
The majesty from that uncrowned brow, 
Nor from that cold lip chase the winning smile 

That lit thy features proud, as sunset's glow 

Flushes with beauty some pale peak of snow, 
Throned in the Alpine sky. 

What visions passed before those fading eyes 

Ere closed in death's eclipse? 
When "Tete d'armee — Josephine — Ma Mere" 

Dropped from the paling lips. 
Thy wife's dark eyes, thy noble mother's smile, 
And with those tender memories the while 
Came the red battle, and th' exulting cry, 

" Napoleon — Victory !" 
And the bright past swept, glory-laden, by. 

(22) 



THE MASK OF PLASTER. 2 $ 



Thou didst behold o'er many a field 

Thy soaring eagle wave his plume, 
Until the sun of Austerlitz 

Went down in endless gloom — 
Went down o'er Waterloo, to rise 
Never again on earthly skies. 
To thee there never came a dawn, 

For thee there never beamed a star, 
Save when thine eye prophetic pierced 

The darkness, and beheld afar 
The day-star of thy race arise, 

As radiant as when of yore 
The shadow of thy purple spread 

Its mighty wings from shore to shore. 
Behold ! thy race upon the throne ! 

Thy tomb a nation's hallowed shrine ! 
Thy name the battle-shout of France ! 

Thy memory a dream divine ! 
But thou art sleeping, and no voice again 
Will wake thee from thy slumber by the Seine ; 

And this pale visage only to our eyes 

Reveals thy mortal guise. 

No battle thunder swept thee to thy rest ; 

No hostile bullet stilled thy mighty heart. 
The slow shafts of the tropic air 

Played the assassin's part. 



24 THE MASK OF PLASTER. 

Thou, conqueror of the world, didst pass away 

'Mid enemies alone ! 
(Thy prison a rock, thy jailer the wild sea !) 

A trailing willow and a nameless stone 
Were all their churlish hands could grant thy clay. 

Yet not unhonored went thou to thy sleep : 

The tempest shrieked thy death-knell o'er the deep, 
Heaven sent its thunder for a requiem, 
And thine avenger is Eternity ! 



IMPLORO PACEM. 

With fait' ring step and weary heart I come, 

O mother Earth ! one boon from thee to crave : 
The aching brain and troubled soul would rest. 
Give me a grave. 

On thy kind bosom I would lay my head, 

Never to ope my heavy eyes again 
Upon this world, whose boons to me have been 
Sorrow and pain. 

Life's noontide burns above me, and I shrink 

From the long^ thorny path I still must tread ; 
Room for me, mother, 'mid thy best-loved sons — 
The happy dead ! 

Ope thy green mantle ! hush thy weary child 

Into thy slumber, dewy, dreamless, deep, 
O thou ! who, like the Psalmist's God, doth give 
Thy loved one sleep ! 

3* ( 25 ) 



RE-UNITED. 

You are dead, and I am dying ; 

We shall meet before the morrow ; 
All our lonely years are ended ; 

We have done with pain and sorrow. 
I shall see you ere the setting 

Of yon slowly rising moon. 
Ay, we knew not when we parted 

That we'd meet again so soon. 

All the long years we were severed, 

All their bitter sorrows seem 
Like the pale and fading phantoms 

Of a scarce-remembered dream. 
And my heart forgets its aching 

In the joy that thrills it now ; 
There are none to come between us 

In the land to which I go. 

Do you know that I am coming ? 
Do you watch for me to-night ? 

(26) 



RE- UNI TED. 

Do you wait above the stars, love, 
As I wait beneath their light ? 

Ah, I know that you are waiting 
In your fair and distant home ! 

We've a tryst now, O beloved ! 
Where no enemies can come. 

You are dead, and I am dying, 

Very slowly, but at last. 
And I trust the death-veiled Future 

To redeem the mournful Past. 
Ne'er was pillow pressed so gladly 

As the one whereon I'm lying ; 
For I know you'll greet my waking. 

You are dead, and I am dying ! 



27 



WITHOUT AND WITHIN. 

The day lies dead beneath a cloudy pall ; 

The wind beside her moans in mournful strain ; 
From the dusk fingers of the drowsy clouds 

Drop slowly, one by one, the pearls of rain. 

There is no living thing abroad on earth ; 

There are no stars ; the clouds have quenched their 
light. 
There is no sound except the wailing wind ; 

Thou, world without, art dark and drear to-night ! 

Yet not so dreary as mine inner world. 

Beside my hearth, where bright forms sat of yore, 
Sits a pale shadow, mutt 'ring with white lips : 

" My name is Sorrow — we shall part no more ! n 

Who are the blest ones in this world of ours ? 

The silent dead in very truth are blest. 
The marble portal, closed by Death's cold hand, 

Shuts out all sorrow, and doth shut in rest. 

(28) 



WITHOUT AND WITHIN. 2 g 

Blest the distraught ! To them come phantoms bright, 
Lighting with alien torch the darkened brain. 

Alas ! alas ! the melancholy thoughts ! 

That follow ceaseless as the drops of rain. 



IN VAIN. 

Clasp closer arms, press closer lips, 

In last and vain caressing ! 
For nevermore that pallid cheek 

Will crimson 'neath your pressing. 
For these vain words and vainer tears 

She waited yester-even ; 
She waits you now — but in the far 

Resplendent halls of heaven. 

With patient eyes fixed on the door, 

She waited, hoping ever, 
Till Death's dark wall rose cold between 

Her gaze and you forever. 
She heard your footsteps in the breeze, 

And in the wild bee's humming : 
The last breath that she shaped to words 

Said softly, " Is he coming?" 

Now silenced lies the gentlest heart 
That ever sod did cover; 

(3o) 



IN VAIN 

Safe — never to be wrung again 

By you, O fickle lover ! 
Your wrongs to her knew never end 

Till earth's last bonds were riven ; 
Your memory rose cold between 

Her parting soul and heaven. 

Now vain your false and tardy grief; 

Vain your remorseful weeping ; 
For she, whom only you deceived, 

Lies hushed in dreamless sleeping. 
Go — not beside that peaceful form 

Should lying words be spoken ! 
Go, pray to God, "Be merciful 

As she whose heart I've broken 1" 



3 1 



TO R. M. H. 

I enter sadly in 

That best-lov'd spot 
Where thou wert wont to be, 

Where thou art not. 
Thy step upon the floor 

Has scarcely died ; 
The echo of thy voice 

Has just replied. 
Yet all around looks sad, 

Deserted, drear, 
And plainer says than words, 

Thou art not here ! 

From yonder wall looks down 

Thy pictured face, 
With something of thy smile 

And of thy grace. 
Yet though there shine thine eyes, 

There bends thy brow, 
I cannot cheat my heart ; 

It is not thou ! 



(32) 



TO R. M. H. 

For when have eyes of thine 
Their calm watch kept, 

Nor ever lost their smile 
The while I wept ? 

Come back, O love of mine ! 

Come back again ! 
Chase from my heart this wild 

And yearning pain. 
Bring back Love's golden light 

To Life's drear skies; 
Banish the bitter tears 

From these sad eyes. 
Here in one prayer I pour — 

Alas, in vain ! — 
My heart's wild thirst for thee; 

Come back again ! 
* * * * 

think of me, darling, 
As I think of you, 

All the long day, love, 
And all the night through. 

1 slumber to dream of thee ; 

Wake but to weep. 
I never forget thee, 
Not even in sleep. 
4 



33 



34 



TO R. M. H. 

God keep thee, my darling ! 

God guard thee, mine own ! 
As now thou dost wander 

Afar and alone. 
If loving could shield thee, 

Or prayers could avail, 
No grief should come near thee, 

No peril assail. 

'Tis a week since the moment 

That saw thee depart; 
A week by my counting, 

A year by my heart. 
That heart holds one sorrow ; 

With one hope doth burn : 
That grief is thine absence ; 

That hope — thy return. 



ICH HABE GELIEBET. 

Yes, I have loved thee, and how well and madly, 

Thou, cold of heart, shall never, never know ! 
I will not feed thy vanity by telling 

How bitterly the tears of manhood flow ! 
Yes, I have loved thee with the deep devotion 

A woman wins but once, and nevermore ; 
Let once Love's bark be wrecked upon Life's waters, 

There comes no second to the self-same shore. 

I have wasted Love's celestial incense 
Before thy shrine, thou idol wrought of clay ! 

Have poured my heart's whole wealth upon thine altar, 
And now I turn in loathing scorn away. 

Yes, I have wakened from my charmed dreaming 
To yield me to thy witchery no more. 

1 would not sorrow could I but respect thee ; 

But I despise where late I did adore. 

I gather up my heart's poor shattered fragments 
(That heart thou'st broken, but mayst not retain), 

(35) 



2$ ICH HA BE GE LIE BET. 

And forth into the world I bend my footsteps, 

Never, I trust, to see thy face again. 
I ask no vengeance from the avenging Future. 

Cold heart and shallow brain, go free, go free ! 
I do not ask thee, in thy joyous hours, 

To blight thy gayety with thoughts of me ! 

Unbidden comes the day of retribution; 

Surely, though late, its sun shall o'er thee shine, 
When thou, with" worn-out grace and faded beauty, 

Would sell thy very soul for love like mine. 
And if the spirits of the ancient Sibyl 

My lip and soul to prophecy had mov'd, 
I could for thee foretell a doom no darker 

Than that which shall be thine — to live unloved. 

And when the rose hue from thy cheek has faded, 

The gloss departed from thy golden hair ; 
When e'en thy fondest flatterer — thy mirror, 

Bids thee confess thou art no longer fair; 
When the bright dreams of youth have left thee wholly, 

And thou, to muse upon the Past, art free ; 
When friend and flatterer alike desert thee, 

Then is mine hour. Yes, then remember me ! 

Remember me ! for I have loved thee truly, 

And would have loved thee to life's latest hour; 



ICH HA BE GE LIE BET, 37 

I would have strewn thy earthly path with roses 
(Mine all the thorns, so thou hadst but the flower). 

Yes, I have loved thee — take this last confession 

From one whose heart from aught save scorn is free, 

Who deems thee now too pitiful for hatred : 
I shall forget ! but thou — remember me ! 



4* 



IN MEMORY OF H. A. C. 

O autumn days of solemn light, 

And sunsets soft and tender ! 
A shadow on your glory rests, 

A darkness on your splendor J 
For, 'neath your golden gleaming skies 

He lies in dreamless sleeping, 
Whose praise we fain would speak to-day, 

Yet cannot speak for weeping. 

Alas ! the poet's skill is vain ! 

Our feeble voices falter 
As we approach with mournful hearts 

Death's consecrated altar. 
There's better praise than rhymed dirge, 

In mournful measure vying — 
The tears that rain above the turf 

'Neath which our lost is lying. 

O deeply loved and early doomed ! 

O young, unconscious teacher ! 
(38) 



IN MEMOR Y OF H. A. C. 

By thy pure life and hero death 

How eloquent a preacher ! 
Vain were your countless gifts, O Earth ! 

To teach his heart repining 
When on his fading life he saw 

The dawn of Heaven shining. 

Unstained, he rendered up to God 

His life's unopened blossom ; 
Temptation's many-pointed darts 

Fell pointless from his bosom. 
All gifts this world of ours hath 

To his young life were given, 
Till God on that pure heart bestowed 

His last, best blessing — Heaven. 

Take him, O Earth ! No nobler heart 

Lies cold within thy grasping. 
Take him, O Heaven ! Never soul 

More stainless sought thy clasping 
Than his, who, when life's light grew dim 

And death's dark shades were falling, 
Had messages for countless friends, 

No enemies recalling. 

O Mother ! bowed beneath this grief, 
The first your boy e'er gave you, 



39 



40 



IN MEMORY OF H. A. C. 

Vain is your tearful sympathy 

From one wild pang to save you ! 

Look up to God. His hand one day 
That loved one shall restore you, 

Whose dying words were, "It is best 
That I should die before you. ' ' 



TOO LATE. 

Two hours a mother, one year a wife, 
She lies in the trance of departing life. 

Her husband, beside her dying-bed, 
In bitterest anguish bows his head. 

"Accurs'd," he mutters, "the fate that sold 
A lordly name for a woman's gold ; 

"That gave her hand where her heart was not, 
And darkened forever her wedded lot ! 

"Yet, though you have loved me not, my wife, 
I loved you ever, and more than life." 

The dying heard, and the fleeting breath 
Returned ; for Love was as strong as Death. 

Over her cheek stole a tinge of red ; 
Straight she arose in her dying-bed ! 

(4i) 



42 TOO LATE. 

" Husband !" she cries, "let us bless the fate 
That tells us the truth, though late, so late ! 

"I thought that I was an unlov'd bride, 
Wedded for wealth and sold to pride. 

"Yet (closer, O husband, bend your brow !) 
I lov'd you long, and I love you now I" 

She hides on his heart her paling face ; 
He folds her close in a long embrace. 

Slowly he lays her from off his breast 
Back to her long and her dreamless rest. 

He bends and kisses the placid brow, 
Whiter than marble and cold as snow. 

He whispers low, ' ' The kiss now given 
Return to me when we meet in heaven ! ' ' 

Alas ! the secret of many a fate 

These two words tell, "Too late, too late I" 



LEONORA D'ESTE. 

I have stolen from the revel, forth to silence and the 

night, 
From the palace of Ferrara and its hall of festal light. 
I must . smile beneath the lustres \ I can weep beneath 

the stars — 
Stars which haply thou art watching through thy dun- 
geon's iron bars. 
Dost thou think of me, O Tasso, pent within those 

stifling walls, 
As thy mem'ry haunts me ever in these gay and gilded 

halls ? 
I can summon but one phantom from the chambers of 

my brain : 
1 Mid the festal music ever sounds the clanking of thy 

chain. 
As the dancers weave their measures, lo, the palace 

fades away, 
And I see a narrow dungeon shut from e'en the light of 

day; 

(43) 



44 



LEONORA D'ESTg. 



And beside the lowly pallet, pale, with silver-sprinkled 

hair, 
Bends the form I knew so noble, bends the brow I 

thought so fair. 
Gone the mien erect and princely; gone the glance so 

high and brave ! 
Tasso, Tasso, do not curse me; I was powerless to 

save ! 

Alfonso ! cruel brother, deaf to every human prayer, 
Wouldst thou grant but one petition, hear me once in 

my despair ! 

Wouldst thou promise but to free him when this life of 
mine were done, 

He should walk this earth in freedom ere arose to- 
morrow's sun. 

1 must trust thee to the Future. Time, who still 

avenges all, 
Very surely shall avenge thee, and on me his wrath 

will fall. 
Future generations, bending o'er thy grand majestic 

song, 
Shall amid their praise find curses for the workers of thy 

wrong. 
They will curse the fatal beauty that has wrought thee 

so much woe ; 
And my life-long love and sorrow none will ever heed 

or know. 



LEONORA D'ESTE. 45 

Ay, the steps of future ages shall thy cell seek as a 

shrine ! 
Generations will lament thee. Who will reck these 

tears of mine ? 
Not e'en thou, O lov'd so vainly ! thou wilt deem thy- 
self forgot ! 
Thou wilt think my love has withered in the sunshine 

of my lot. 
Would that thou couldst but behold me when my tears 

fall down like rain ! 
When I cry aloud to Heaven in mine agony in vain. 
Or, couldst see me at the altar, when I bend my knee 

in prayer — 
" Save him, God !*' the voiceless accents of my anguish 

and despair. 
God is deaf, and man is cruel ; there are none to hear 

or save. 
Thou wilt only leave thy prison through the portals of 

the grave ; 
And perchance in yonder heaven we will meet, and I 

shall tell 
How I loved thee, Unforgotten, loved thee ever, and 

how well ! 

And they say that I am dying ! Death comes not to 

such as I : 

Life is strong in wretched bosoms; 'tis the blest alone 

that die. 

5 



46 LEONORA D'ESTE. 

Roses fade and fall forever in the summer's sunny air; 
Withered leaves defy the tempest as they cling to 

branches bare. 
Hark ! the music rings exultant, pealing forth a gayer 

strain ! 
I must back into the revel ; I must wear the mask again. 
Smile, O lips, and hide the anguish ye may never dare 

to speak. 
Shine, O eyes, and, like my jewels, flash the while my 

heart doth break. 
Flush, O cheek, to deeper roses ; let me bravely act the 

lie; 
Let me smile, and jest, and revel, till God hears me, 

and I die. 



ON AN OLD PORTRAIT. 

Eyes that outsmiled the morn, 

Behind your golden lashes, 
What are your fires now ? 
Ashes ! 

Cheeks that outblushed the rose, 

White arms and snowy bust, 
What is your beauty now ? 

Dust! 



(47) 



JEALOUSY. 

I stand beside the silent couch 

Whence Hope, and Life, and Love have fled ; 
The wild voice of the wintry wind 

Alone doth break the silence dread. 
It will not wake you, O my wife ! 

Never on earth you'll wake again. 
Those close-shut lids are done with tears ; 

That frozen brow is done with pain. 
Never again my jealous fears 

Will wake your cold and scornful smile ; 
Never again I'll wring your heart, 

Breaking my own the bitter while. 
Yet, even now, the while I gaze 

Upon your silent, frozen rest, 
The olden fears, the olden doubts, 

Return anew to wring my breast. 

You loved me not, O bitter truth ! 

Though known too late, yet learned too well. 
And did you love another ? Lo ! 

The dead the long-hid secret tell ! 

(48) 



JEALOUSY. 49 

Your desk before me shattered lies, 

And now I hold with frenzied clasp 
Those hidden letters, treasured long ; 

Your secret is within my grasp. 
Now I shall know if you were pure 

As yonder snow before it fell ; 
Or fouler than the pitchy smoke 

That reeks from out the depths of hell ! 

My hand is on the folded page 

Wherein your life-long secret lies ; 
And yet I pause before I slay 

The Past and all its memories ! 
O loved one ! loved so long and well ! 

It may be in an instant more 
That I shall loathe thee with a hate 

Surpassing e'en my love of yore. 
And I, perchance, to-morrow morn 

Will stand beside the churchyard sod, 
With shame and curses in my heart : — 

Never, never — so help me God ! 

The embers glow upon the hearth ; 

I give into their red embrace 
Your treasured letters folded still, 

Pale ashes now their only trace ; 
5* 



5 o JEALOUSY. 

And may this act atone, O love ! 

For all my jealous doubts and fears, 
That darkened so with misery 

Our wedded life these long sad years. 
I trust you now, alas ! too late ! 

Rest, with this last kiss on your brow ; 
If you have sinn'd, God knows, not I ! 

To me for aye you're spotless now. 



THE LAST KISS. 

Kiss me, darling — I am weary ; 
Life was long and earth was dreary. 
I am sick of care and pain ; 
Kiss me once, and not again. 

Life, thou'rt fading from my heart ! 
Love, wilt thou, too, so depart ? 
Perish Life if Love remain ! 
Kiss me once, and not again. 

Other lips outside the door 
Wait thee warm as mine of yore ; 
Mine are cold with death and pain ; 
Kiss me once, and not again. 

False the love, and false the kiss ; 
False e'en in an hour like this ! 
False, but all too late to pain ; 
Kiss me once, and not again. 

(50 



52 



THE LAST KISS. 



So — now go and close the door; 
I shall never see thee more ; 
When I'm done with life and pain 
Come and kiss me once again. 



THE VOYAGE OF LIFE. 

Dawn is shining o'er the waters 

Where a gilded galley lies ; 
And a baby's sinless laughter 

Floats like incense to the skies. 
And the perfumed breeze is laden 

With the sounds of childish glee : 
We are drifting, we are drifting 

Ever downward to the sea. 

It is morning on the waters, 

And the skies shine bright above ; 
And our lips are tuned to gladness, 

And we sing of life and love. 
' ' Every wave on life's dark waters 

Holds an image, love, of thee ! ' ' 
So we sing the while we're drifting 

Ever downward to the sea. 

It is noon upon the waters, 

And we stand erect and strong, 

(53) 



54 THE VOYAGE OF LIFE. 

And the rocky banks re-echo 
To the burden of our song : 

"Life's a struggle, life's a battle, 
And its warriors are we." 

So we sing the while we're drifting 
Ever downward to the sea. 

It is evening on the waters, 

And our song has died away. 
We are weary of the sunlight ; 

We are weary of the day. 
" Give us rest, and give us mem'ry ! 

Life, we crave no more from thee ! ' ' 
We are drifting, we are drifting 

Ever downward to'the sea. 

It is night upon the waters, 

And the gilded bark is gone ; 
And the moonlight's veil of silver 

Lies upon the waves alone. 
Round the river's mouth the ocean 

Moans in mournful melody ; 
We have drifted, we have drifted 

Downward, downward to the sea. 



A WINTER TALE. 

Under the stars' pale light, 

Upon a winter's night, 
Two women sat beneath an ancient yew. 

Both marvelously fair ; 

One with dark eyes and hair, 
The other golden-tress' d, with eyes of blue. 

Each told a bitter tale, 

Sad as a dying wail, 
Of woman's faith and of man's faithlessness. 

Each thrill' d the winter air 

With words of wild despair, 
And with the accents of heart-wrung distress. 

One to the other said : 

" Now Love and Hope are dead ; 

The ashes of the Past our Future smother ; 
Yet let us once again 
Back to the haunts of men : 

Let us return — let us avenge each other !" 

(55) 



5 6 A WINTER TALE. 

One year has pass'd and two : 

Again beneath the yew 
The silent stars behold those women fair. 

Each with cold lips and pale 

Again repeats her tale. 
Triumphant words, not sad, now thrill the air. 

One told of what she'd done, 

Of love spurn' d soon as won ; 
Of death self-dealt while manhood's pulse beat high. 

The other, with a smile 

That never changed the while, 
Said, " He who wronged you lives and longs to die !" 

Such laughter then arose 

As Hell, not Heaven, knows, 
Wild exultation with fierce hatred blended. 

Into the darkness then 

They passed from human ken, 
Whither I know not. Lo, my tale is ended ! 



FAUST TO MARGUERITE. 

Wild visions, born of mem'ry and remorse, 

Recall thy ruined beauty, Marguerite ! 
And I behold thee still before me glide 

Pale as the vision of Walpurgis night ! 
And once again I see the wild sad eyes 
Whose last gaze turned from me to seek the skies, 

Marguerite ! 

And then the vision changes. I behold 
Thee pure and fair as when I saw thee first, 

Ere yet the fiend and I had stay'd thy steps, 

And thrilled thy heart with words and looks accursed, 

Alas ! the sweet mouth I shall kiss no more, 

The golden hair that swept the prison floor, 

Marguerite ! 

Again the dream doth change. I see again 
The wondrous vision of the witches' cave ; 

When fiendish art called up thy gentle form 
And to my dazzled eyes thy beauty gave, 

6 (57) 



s 8 FAUST TO MARGUERITE. 

And then I wake to know thou art no more ; 
That peace and hope and love for me are o'er, 

Marguerite ! 

And thou didst love me — yes, the last on earth, 
For mortal love shall nevermore be mine. 

What have I left me now ? Remorse, despair — 
The fiend's companionship instead of thine. 

My past all sin ; my present — misery ; 

Hell for my future. Woe, ah, woe is me ! 

Marguerite ! 

There's blood upon my hands; it does not weigh 
So heavy upon my soul as thine undoing. 

His sword met mine — his rage aroused my wrath ! 
What hadst thou done that I should work thy ruin? 

No compact 'twixt us did the demon need; 

My soul was lost by that one unblest deed, 

Marguerite ! 

And even Death will re-unite us not. 

That last hope sad hearts cherish is not mine. 
The awful gulf that never may be cross' d 

Will separate for aye my soul from thine. 
Yet one blest thought amid despair doth live : 
If Heav'n will not, thou wilt, I know, forgive, 

Marguerite ! 



FAUST TO MARGUERITE. 59 

One other ray of light illumes my lot, 

One dream of mercy on my heart is graved — 

The mem'ry of that strange mysterious voice, 

Heard in the last dread moment, i ' She is saved ! ' ' 

Yes, I can bear my fate, whate'er it be; 

Let hell be mine, if heav'n has place for thee, 

Marguerite ! 

Pray for me, Marguerite ! I am so lost 

And so accurs'd my lips are locked from prayer. 

Canst thou not give me back to hope and Heav'n, 
Me, who but gave thee ruin and despair ? 

In yonder sky, where thou dost wander free, 

Ask God if there be mercy still for me, 

Marguerite ! 



THE GIVING OF THE GOBLET 

" There was a king in Thule, 
Faithful e'en to the grave ; 
To whom his lov'd one dying 
A golden goblet gave !** — Goethe. 

Yes, I am dying, O my king, my husband ! 

The life thou'st blest is fading from my heart ; 
And one last gift my dying hand would proffer 

Ere I from happiness and thee depart ! 

No saintly relic that thou mayst, when kneeling 
At holy shrine, unto thy reft heart press ; 

No fond love-token to thy sad gaze sacred 
Amid thine hours of mournful loneliness. 

Nor yet a sword, to flash protecting lightning 
Above thee when thy war-shout rends the air. 

When death and danger, O belov'd, are near thee 
Dost thou not think that I too will be there ? 

And when thou'rt kneeling at some holy altar, 

My memory, I know, will with thee dwell ; 
(60) 



THE GIVING OF THE GOBLET. 61 

And, 'mid the silence of thy lonely chamber, 
Thou wilt remember me, alas ! too well. 

But when the revel reigneth in the palace, 

When flames the torch and flows the wine-cup free, 

Thou mayst forget me ! E'en amid thy feasting, 
O love ! I still would have thee think of me ! 

Behold my gift — this golden-jewel'd goblet ! 

Let it be sacred to thy lips alone ! 
Drain it at every feast; and while thou'rt drinking, 

Remember me ! thy loved, thy lost, thine own ! 

When comes the moment of our re-uniting, 
When on th' unknown shore I wait for thee, 

And when in dying one last draught thou cravest, 
Drink from this goblet then, and drink to me ! 



6* 



ON A PORTRAIT OF HEINE. 

Behold ! the limner's magic art 
In few yet wondrous lines doth tell 

How beautiful, how sad, how sweet 
The face of him who sang so well ! 

The Poet, not the Infidel, 

Looks from those features calm and fair ! 
No skeptic sneer their beauty mars, 

For Death is near and Thought is there. 

Thus thou didst look — thus hadst thou sung, 

What immortality were thine ! 
We ne'er had prayed then, "God forgive, 

And World forget, each mocking line ! ' ' 

Forgive, O God — forget, O World, 
What blasphemy he could create ! 

Let but that sweet sad face recall 

How sweet his song, how sad his fate ! 

(62) 



THE KING'S RIDE. 

Above the city of Berlin 

Shines soft the summer day, 
And near the royal palace shout 

The schoolboys at their play. 

Sudden the mighty palace gates 

Unclasp their portals wide, 
And forth into the sunshine see 

A single horseman ride. 

A bent old man in plain attire ; 

No glitt'ring courtiers wait, 
No armed guard attends the steps 

Of Frederick the Great ! 

The boys have spied him, and with shouts 

The summer breezes ring. 
The merry urchins haste to greet 

Their well-beloved king. 

(63) 



64 THE KING'S RIDE. 

Impeding e'en his horse's tread, 

Presses the joyous train ; 
And Prussia's despot frowns his best, 

And shakes his stick in vain. 

The frowning look, the angry tone, 
Are feigned, full well they know. 

They do not fear his stick — that hand 
Ne'er struck a coward blow. 

"Be off to school, you boys!" he cries. 

" Ho ! ho ! " the laughers say, 
"A pretty king you not to know 

We've holiday to-day!" 

And so upon that summer day, 

Those children at his side, 
The symbol of his nation's love, 

Did royal Frederick ride. 

O Kings! your thrones are tott'ring now! 

Dark frowns the brow of Fate ! 
When did you ride as rode that day 

King Frederick the Great ? 



AN OLD STORY. 

I held her on her wedding-day 

Close folded to my breast, 
And kisses such as mothers give, 

Upon her brow I pressed. 
Fond were the words I whispered low, 

Love lent the tears I shed ; 
I loosed her from that loving clasp, 

Nor knew my friend was dead. 

Dead — dead to me ! She comes no more 

To lay her cheek to mine, 
And whisper softly, " Friend beloved, 

Let half my joys be thine." 
No more above my yearning heart 

Shall all her tears be shed ; 
Well have I loved and sadly lost — 

The friend I loved is dead ! 

One seeks me now who wears her form — 
The acquaintance of a day ; 

(65) 



66 AN OLD STORY. 

In idle speech and careless mirth 

Her visits pass away. 
We talk of operas and balls, 

And what the world has said — 
Back to my heart I press the cry, 

"My friend — my friend is dead !" 

Lo, I shall greet mine other dead 

In the eternal skies, 
But this lost love I shall regain 

Not e'en in Paradise. 
From the bright gates an echo comes 

Of words my soul hath said, 
"E'en here, where Death dwells not, to thee 

The friend thou lov'dst is dead." 

So in the haunts of Memory 

A sacred grave I keep ; 
I only know what moulders there, 

I only o'er it weep. 
O'er it my eyes have shed sad tears, 

O'er it my heart has bled: 
O worse than death is death in life — 

The friend I loved is dead ! 









AT THE BAL MABILLE. 

I waited near the Bal Mabille, 

Beside the open door, 
I fain would see the face that I 

Shall living see no more. 

Outside, the silent night and I ; 

Inside, the joyous din : 
Alas ! that Love should weep without, 

And Sin should laugh within. 

You passed me in the lamp-lit street, 

With flowers in your hair, 
And diamonds upon your breast, 

So beautiful — so bare. 

Your dress of rosy moire silk 
Swept round me as you passed : 

You'll find a stain upon its folds — 
It was a tear — my last. 

(67) 



68 AT THE BAL MABILLE. 

I scarcely knew the face I loved 

A few brief months ago, 
For there was paint upon your cheek, 

A brand upon your brow. 

Now I shall never seek you more, 
Whate'er your fate may be. 

I go to wait, where soon or late 
You'll surely come to me. 

Though months and years may pass away 

Before we meet again, 
You will not fail to keep this tryst 

Beside the river Seine. 

Dim then will be those shameless eyes, 
Those mocking lips be dumb ; 

For I am keeper of La Morgue : 
I wait there till you come. 

You will not come with painted cheeks, 
In flowers, gems, and moire. 

Good-night, O woman that I loved ; 
Good-night, and au revoir. 



GARDEN AND BALCONY. 

LOVER. 

I have scaled the outer wall, 
I have passed the secret gate, 

Yonder shines the signal lamp, 
There my love waits 

HUSBAND. 

No, my hate ! 

LOVER. 

Stars, my dim and kindly guides, 

Through the darkness of the night, 
Veil your tell-tale brightness now 

HUSBAND. 

Look your last upon their light ! 

7 (69) 



7° 



GARDEN AND BALCONY. 

LOVER. 

Roses round her lattice twined 
Wooing me with scented breath, 

Hid behind your perfumed shade, 
Love awaits me 

HUSBAND. 

No, 'tis Death ! 



GRETCHEN. 

I sat beside the river, 

My baby on my knee ; 
The waters rushed, the waters roared, 
Woe is me ! 

I looked upon my baby, 

And shame looked up at me. 
The night was dark, the stream was deep, 
Woe is me ! 

I sat beside the river, 

No baby on my knee ; 
The waters rushed, the waters roared, 
Woe is me ! 

A cry came from the river, 

There were no stars to see. 
I turned and fled and ne'er looked back, 
Woe is me ! 

(70 



72 



GRETCHEN. 

And now my fame is spotless, 

Men call me fair to see. 
I would the river were my grave, 
Woe is me ! 



ELSINORE 



A REMINISCENCE OF BOOTH'S HAMLET. 



We sit in breathless silence, 

A spell-bound throng around, 
Art's magic seals our senses 

From meaner sight and sound ; 
And though we sit, unmoving, 

The mimic scene before, 
Our souls o'erleap the footlights 

And dwell in Elsinore. 

O wondrous this enchantment, 

That gives th' Ideal life, 
That wins us from the Real, 

Its cares, its toils, its strife ! 
Time's ocean, slowly ebbing, 

Leaves jewel-strewn the shore, 
Gives back to light the glories 

Of Shakspeare's Elsinore. 

7* (73) 



74 



ELSINORE. 

And, lo ! the Prince of Denmark 

Now meets our gaze the while, 
With eyes whose saddest glances 

Are gladder than their smile, — 
Sublime in mournful beauty, 

As when he trod of yore, 
In majesty and mourning, 

The halls of Elsinore. 

O rare and royal vision, 

That bids our eyes rejoice ! 
The soul of Shakspeare's shaping 

Hath found a form and voice. 
And we, beholding, murmur, 

' ' Such was the guise he wore, 
Who deathless lives in Shakspeare, 

Who died at Elsinore." 

O manhood worn and wasted 

By anguish and despair ! 
O words whose mournful music 

Make sweet the haunted air ! 
We seem the painted phantoms, 

This th' unreal shore, 
And there, beyond the footlights, 

The true world, — Elsinore. 



ELSINORE. 

The rest, " the rest is silence." 

The curtain's downward fall, 
A fair Art-vision given 

To Mem'ry, — that is all. 
And we, uprising, whisper, 

"Dull Life, to thee once more 
We come, from charmed dwelling 

In Shakspeare's Elsinore." 



75 



WASTED LOVE. 

The woman that I loved goes by 
With glowing cheek and gleaming eye ; 

Her brow by grief or care uncross' d, 
She knew not love, nor knows remorse ; 
The while I watch beside a corse, 

The love that I have lost. 

Not e'en by Friendship's fondest word 
May this cold dust be ever stirred. 

Away ! my path must not be crossed. 
Where now with weary step I tread, 
Keeping my watch beside my dead, 

The love that I have lost. 

And could ye, friends, a moment peer 
Beneath the pall that hides this bier, 

What would ye see who loved me most ? 
Naught save my trust in womanhood, 
My faith in all that's pure and good — 
The love that I have lost. 
(76) 



WASTED LOVE. 77 

And here some letters, — half a score, — 
A portrait, mine once, mine no more ; 

For deeper lines my brow have crossed ; 
A lock of hair, — but mine to-day 
To match its jet is all too gray — 

O love that I have lost ! 

And here, from out a letter's fold, 

There drops a ring of rayless gold, 
By quaintly graven letters cross' d : 
" Pensez a moi" the legend shines. 

You could not guard, O mocking lines ! 
The love that I have lost. 

serpent soul and heart of stone ! 
Think not for thee I make my moan, 

Thou, cold and blighting as the frost : 

1 mourn the faith, I mourn the trust, 

That 'neath thy false breath shrank to dust — 
The love that I have lost. 

In losing thee I have been blest : 
What were my lot had I possessed 

The wealth to pay thy soul's full cost? 
The mask had fallen soon or late ; 
Nay, better far than such a fate, 

To lose as I have lost. 



78 WASTED LOVE. 

But come not here, O friends, to raise, 
With kindly words and well-meant phrase, 

The mocking Past's triumphant ghost ! 
Nay, deeper than the soundless sea 
I would the sepulcher might be 

Of the love that I have lost. 



GENESIS, CHAPTER V. 

I had a vision in the midnight hour : 

The long departed ones of Earth stood at my side. 
And from their pallid lips sad accents came, 
"We died— we died!" 

First spoke a regal shape, whose dim pale brow 

Still wore majestic its imperial pride : 
" I gathered crowns as children gather flow'rs, 
And lo— I died!" 

And then another spoke : "A poet I, 

I sang — the Future's echoing halls replied. 
I dreamed of Immortality, and lo, 
I waked and died ! ' ' 

Then spoke another : " Golden was my dream. 

Wealth poured around me in resplendent tide ; 
I wooed and won the world with glittering gifts, 
And then I died." 

(79) 



80 GENESIS, CHAPTER V. 

And still another : " I was loved, I loved. 

I launched Life's bark on Love's enchanted tide; 
Heav'n smiled upon me from a woman's eyes, — 
Alas! I died." 

And then another : " Round my mould 'ring brow 

Still cling the roses withered in their pride ; 
I grasped bright Pleasure's cup, but ere 'twas drained 
I died— I died!" 

And then the vision vanished. Through the night 

The passing wind like one bereaved sighed, 
And distant voices, far and fading, moaned, 
"We died— we died!" 



MY DESTINY. 

With yearning heart I wait 

Without the golden gate 
That leads into the realms of Poesy ; 

Wide lie the lands and fair • 

Beneath th' enchanted air : 
Alas ! there is no entrance there for me. 

Not at my touch unfold 

The mystic gates of gold, 
Yet through their jeweled bars strange splendors glow 

Without are care and strife ; 

Within, the fairer life, 
And bay-crowned forms pass singing as they go. 

Some sing, and Joy appears 

More glad for what she hears ; 
From others' song Grief learns a sadder moan. 

Some go in strange rapt guise 

With gaze that seeks the skies ; 
Some seek the crowd, and others sit alone. 

8 (81) 



82 MY DESTINY. 

wondrous realm and Jair ! 
There Dante dwells, and there 

Goethe and Schiller wander hand in hand ; 
There Milton's sightless eyes 
Unsealed behold the skies — 

There Shakspeare reign the monarch of the land. 

There exiled Hugo's heart 

Forgets in song its smart, 
And shapes new glories from its endless pain ; 

There Tongfellow's pure line 

Learns cadences divine, 
And fair dead Browning lives and sings again. 

But I — in vain I knock, 

1 cannot ope the lock ; 
Hopeless I stand and hopelessly I wait : 

Yet many ne'er behold 
That mystic gate of gold ; 
How blest am I to stand without the gate ! 

Although I ne'er may win 

The right to enter in 
To thy bright kingdom, Immortality ! 

Yet to my raptured eyes 

Are giv'n its shining skies, 
The light, the loveliness of Poesy. 



MY DESTINY. 

To me, to me belong 
The singers and the song, 

The wondrous visions from the fair Past sent ; 
And though I ne'er may stand 
Within th' enchanted land, 

Mine eyes behold it, and I am content. 



83 



ADAM LUX. 

I saw the tumbril slowly pass ; 

You stood there, beautiful, unmoved, 
Calm in the presence of your doom. 

I looked upon you and I loved. 

The waiting guillotine rose dark 
Against the lurid morning sky ; 

I saw the axe fall — yet I lived, 
I lived, O love ! for you to die. 

I saw the headsman's dastard stroke 
Flush into red your pallid cheek ; 

That cheek my lips have longed to press 
With a wild thirst they ne'er could speak. 

I fled to ask your hand of Death ; 

"Greater than Brutus !" was my cry; 
And now I sit here calmly blest, 

For you are dead and I shall die. 

(84) 



ADAM LUX. 85 

To-morrow I shall cross the dark, 

Mysterious gulf that 'twixt us lies, 
And I shall greet you with the light 

Of love undying in my eyes. 

Yes we shall meet. Though men have said 
There is no world beyond the skies, — 

That angels, heaven, God himself, 
Are but the birth of priestly lies. 

There is a heaven. I have seen 

Its radiance upon your brow, 
And somewhere, o'er its sapphire floors, 

Your spirit treads in glory now. 

eyes, whose glance ne'er fell on me ! 
O lips, whose kiss I never knew ! 

Shall glance and kiss at last be mine 
In yon far world beyond the blue? 

1 trust in God. This hour supreme 
Brings back the olden faith and trust 

In Him, the God my childhood knew, 
The loving, merciful, and just. 
8* 



S6 ADAM LUX. 

Pass quickly, night, and bring the morn 
That comes to set my spirit free ; 

Somewhere the other side of Death 
Charlotte Corday now waits for me ! 



AFTER THE WAR. 

Fear thou not reproach or blame, 

All our love is at an end ; 
Yes, your lover died to-day, 
When I saw you shrink away : 

Here remaineth but a friend. 

I have only one arm left, 

Not enough to hold you fast ; 
Deeply, too, my brow is scarred, 
And my cheek was sadly marred 
By the shot that through it passed. 

I would shame your parlor, dear, 

With this marred and mournful brow, 

And this coat, with empty sleeve. 

I could scarcely, I believe, 

Dance with grace the " German' ' now. 

I am but a useless wreck. 

Once a hope before me beamed 

(*7) 



88 AFTER THE WAR. 

Of a meeting — not like this — 
the clasp and O the kiss 

That I dreamed of — only dreamed ! 

Take my hand, but speak no word, 

Let the silence round us flow. 
We shall never meet again, 
In the sunshine or the rain, 
All is over — let us go. 



AFTER THE BALL. 

I sit beside the midnight fire, 

The ball-room roses in my hair ; 
Without, the snow is falling fast, 

And strange storm-voices fill the air. 
My feet are weary of the dance ; 

The revel whirls within my brain ; 
And something deep within my breast 

Throbs with a ceaseless pulse of pain. 

Yes, I have plucked the Dead Sea fruit, 

And savored long its rind of gold ; 
Its ashy core now frets my lip, 

Its dust is falling from my hold. 
And though I struggle to forget, 

And though my heart be triply steeled, 
I cannot banish from my brain 

A vision of a battle-field. 

A vision of the solemn hour 

When won and ended is the fight, 

(89) 



9° 



AFTER THE BALL. 

And when upon the awful scene 

Look down the tender eyes of night ; 

While, pillowed on his prostrate horse, 
And pale beneath his raven hair, 

The old smile new upon his lip, 
The man I loved lies lifeless there. 

He loved me as such men can love, 

The brave, the noble, and the true ; 
He wooed me as a gallant heart 

And poet soul alone could woo. 
He told in burning words his love, — 

I listened with a startled smile, — 
And spoke of "friendship" and "regret," 

And yet I loved him all the while. 

I loved him, but I loved still more 

Gay balls, flirtations, stylish dress. 
To hold these fast I spurned away 

That true heart's wealth of tenderness. 
He left me with a calm farewell, — 

Too fond to frown- — too proud to sigh. 
I danced and flirted as of old, 

And he went forth to fight and die. 

And still I tread the self-same round 
Of balls and operas and dress ; 



AFTER THE BALL. 

But o'er my life is creeping slow 

A mistlike pall of weariness. 
The gayest galop fails to stir 

To bounding life my languid feet ; 
I listless drop my rich bouquet, 

My senses sickened by its sweet. 

Cold lie the embers on the hearth, 

The dark without is growing gray, 
And I must woo reluctant sleep 

Before the dawning of the day. 
Back, ghostly Past, into your tomb ! 

Close, eyes, upon th' unwelcome light ! 
I am engaged for every dance 

At the grand ball to-morrow night. 



9 1 



OPHELIA. 



AFTER THE PLAY. 



She sits within her palace chamber lone, 

With tear-dimmed eyes and heavy-drooping head. 
The wasting torches in the night blast flare, 

The dying embers burn with lurid red, 
The wind-swept arras waves upon the wall, 
Without, the world lies 'neath a snowy pall, 

And the cold moon shines on the frozen stream. 
Her sad gaze seeks the snow-crowned battlements, 

But sees no light from spectral armor gleam ; 
Not unto her pure sight 
Is giv'n that awful vision of the night. 

Her rosary has fallen from her hand 

And lies a heap of pearls upon the floor ; 

She sees as in a dream Prince Hamlet stand 
Before her, and her pale lips murmur o'er 

Those blighting words, " I never loved you. Go ! 

Get thee into a nunnery. M 
(92) 



OPHELIA. 93 

She whispers low, 
"Alas ! yet I believed 
He loved me once. I was the more deceived.' ' 

But, lo ! strange sounds burst on the silent night. 

With sudden cries the startled echoes ring 
The clang of steel upon a stony wall, 
A shriek, a heavy fall, 

A frenzied cry of "Is 't the king?" 
Then all is silence, and the solemn moon 
Shines on, nor veils her light. 
But pale Ophelia, in vague affright, 
Creeps startled to her couch, nor ends her prayers ; 
And kindly slumber kisses off her tears, 
And for a season ends her woes and cares. 

Sleep on ! for thou shalt never know 

A slumber sweet as this again ; 
For thou shalt wake to-morrow morn 

To weep Polonius slain. 
Thy father dead, thy lover mad, 

What hope is left thee on the earth? 
Lo ! thou shalt never smile again 

Till Madness lend thee fearful mirth. 
Thou gentle child ! thus doomed to know 

A woman's loving and despair, 

9 



94 OPHELIA. 

Alas ! that others' sin should work 

The woe of one so pure and fair. 
A tender violet that blooms 

Where Alpine avalanches sweep, 
A pearly shell on rocky shore 

When tempests smite the frenzied deep, 
The fledgling of a Tropic nest 

When wild tornadoes desolate : 
Such are the symbols of thy doom, 

And such the emblems of thy fate. 
Sleep on ! nor dream of that cold wave 

Whose kiss shall soothe thy frenzied brain ; 
Dream not of princely Hamlet's doom, 

Nor of thy loved Laertes slain. 
Sleep on, till morning flush with red 

The cold gray of the eastern sky, 
Then wake — to weep above thy dead — 

To madden — and to die ! 



NEMESIS. 

Come and let me look upon your face, 

Azure eyes, bright hair, and brow of snow ; 

For your beauty I have sold my soul. 

Were you worth it, love ? I do not know. 

I had friends once, faithful, tried, and true, 
Friends who loved me in the long ago ; 

Now unrecognized I pass them by. 

Were you worth it, love ? I do not know. 

Once Ambition lured me, and I saw 

Fame's bright guerdons in the future glow ; 

'Neath your smile the bays ungathered died. 
Were you worth it, love ? I do not know. 

Then my country claimed me, and my heart 
Answered to the battle-call, " I go !" 

'Twas your snowy arms that held me back. 
Were you worth it, love ? I do not know. 

(95) 



9 6 



NEMESIS. 

Once I had a vision of a home 

And a fond wife spotless as the snow ; 

I have you now, and the scorn of men. 

Were you worth it, love ? I do not know. 

Ne'er for me shall Honor weave her wreath, 
Ne'er for me a happy hearth shall glow; 

Mine are sin and shame, and you, dear, you. 
Were you worth it, love ? Alas> I know ! 



THE PROTESTANT WIND. 

1688. 

Come hither, hither, daughter mine ! 

And close the casement fast, 
With thankful hearts and joyful hopes 

We listen to the blast. 
The days of watching and of woe 

Are past, and Fear has ceased ; 
The vanes on all the steeples veer, 

The wind is in the east ! 

The Liberator's prows to-day 

Cleave swift the foaming sea, 
His sails are swelling with the wind 

Heav'n sent to set us free. 
The Smithfleld fires shall never blaze 

Again, for prince or priest, 
For God and Freedom walk the wave, 

The wind is in the east ! 

In Whitehall sits our tyrant king 
And marks the clouds flit past, 

9* ( 97 ) 



98 THE PROTESTANT WIND. 

He trembles at the veering vanes, 

And cowers 'neath the blast. 
Pray, bigot, to your graven gods, 

Kneel to each shaven priest. 
Have they no power o'er the winds? 

The wind is in the east I 

My father fell on Naseby field, 

'Neath Cromwell's smile he died, 
His Bible folded to his breast, 

His good sword at his side. 
I would that he had lived to learn 

This day's bright hope at least, 
To cry, "God save the King who comes!" 

The wind is in the east ! 

Nay, put aside the flagon, child, 

I'll drain no cup to-day, 
But bring my father's Bible here, 

And let us kneel and pray 
For him who comes to rid our land 

Of tyrant and of priest. 
God's breath is on the stormy deep, — 

The wind is in the east ! 



TO LONGFELLOW. 

The seal of Earth was on our lips, 

Our silence was unbroken, 
The words our hearts could never find, 

Thy poet voice hath spoken. 
No summer breeze, no sudden blast, 

From Winter's clarion ringing, 
But bears some perfume of thy soul, 

Some echo of thy singing. 

A starless twilight wraps the earth, 

The autumn winds are sighing, 
A mistlike veil of mournful thought 

On heart and lip is lying. 
It is not sorrow that we feel, 

This mood so far from gladness, 
From thee we learned the words that tell 

The secret of our sadness. 

Above us glows the ruby light 
Of wintry day's declining, 

(99) 



ioo TO LONGFELLOW, 

On snow-crowned hill and snow-wreathed spire 

We mark its splendors shining. 
Like coral reefs, in that Red Sea, 

The trees stand stark and hoary, 
And thou, Magician, hast revealed 

The secret of the glory. 

We sit beside the dreary hearth 

With hearts bereft and lonely, 
Our yearning gaze seeks evermore 

One chair, the vacant, only. 
"Let us be patient," sighs thy voice, 

Heard even 'mid despair. 
"There is no fireside on this earth 

But hath one vacant chair." 

We stand beneath the stars and watch 

The river in its going, 
The music of thy song divine 

Is blended with its flowing. 
The moon looks brightly from the sky, 

And broken from the river, 
The symbol of God's love and Earth's, 

Forever and forever*. 

And when our ardent souls aspire 
To deeds of high endeavor, 



TO LONGFELLOW. 101 

And we would climb the rocky heights 

Of Fame's sublime Forever, 
No scoff or sneer, or syren wile, 

Come, spell or hindrance flinging ; 
While from the skies serene and far 

Excelsior ! is ringing. 

O poet of our hearts and homes, 

Of song sublime, yet tender ! 
Long may the sunbeams on thy brow 

Seek for their kindred splendor. 
Fame lingered not to spell thy name 

From tombstones worn and olden, 
She learned it well, while yet thy locks 

With boyhood's gloss were golden. 



MADAME LA DUCHESSE. 

Through the merry streets of Paris I behold the tum- 
bril roll ; 

While I follow it exulting, loud I chant the Carma- 
gnole. 

You are standing there, proud woman, though your 
gaze sinks not beneath, 

Where I follow, follow singing, as you journey to your 
death. 

On your cheek there are no patches, there's no powder 

on your curls, 
For your white neck waits a necklace colder far than 

chain of pearls ; 
But your calm face keeps its beauty, and your form its 

haughty mien : 
You will look, methinks, less stately when you see the 

guillotine. 

You were once a noble duchess, and your humble 

lackey I — 
Now I think it will amuse me just to see how you will 

die : 

(I02) 



MADAME LA DUCHESSE. IO $ 

Once I stood behind your carriage as it rolled in state 

along — 
Now again your coach I follow, but I come with dance 

and song. 

And I loved you, loved you, madam — you, the haughty 

and the fair : 
I have knelt to kiss the traces of your foot upon the 

stair : 
I have stood beneath your casement in the watches of 

the night, 
Praying just to see your shadow pass between me and 

the light. 

Once I caught a knot of ribbon that fell loosened from 
your hair : 

To the madness of my loving 'twas a treasure past com- 
pare i 

For the powder from your tresses marred its splendor 
and its hue, 

And I kissed it oft and wildly, for its perfume spoke of 
you. 

But one day I brought a letter from some hero of the 

State— 
You were jesting with a princess, but you bade me come 

and wait : 



io4 



MADAME LA DUCHESSE. 



In your bath you sat reclining, and my dull gaze could 

behold 
Swanlike throat and snowy shoulder, and your arms of 

perfect mould. 

And the princess bent toward you, saying softly, 

"Friend, beware! 
You forget, while you are reading, that yon man still 

lingers there.' ' 
Never once you looked toward me : you disdained my 

face to scan, 
While your words came slow and scornful, "Do you 

call that thing a man f ' 

I was once a man to love you — I am now a fiend to 

hate: 
Mine the eyes that watched your hiding — mine the 

words that sealed your fate ; 
And you know that your betrayer was your liv'ried 

slave of yore : 
I have won your hate and horror — you'll despise me 

nevermore. 

Lips that once disdained the breezes that were giv'n 

for common breath ! 
Will you lose your scornful smiling 'neath the frozen 

kiss of Death? 



MADAME LA DUCHESSE. 



io5 



From the red heights of the scaffold, as my face and 

form you scan, 
Think you then, Madame la Duchesse, you may call 

this Thing a Man ? 



10 



JOB, CHAP. XVL, VERSE 2. 

I saw two angels sitting by my dead, 
One at the feet, the other at the head. 

One spake : "Lo, I am Resignation : see — 
Comfort and Peace shall enter in with me. 

" Drive thou rebellious sorrow from thy breast, 
And let me enter there a welcome guest. ' ' 

Then spake the other: "I am Faith, I hold 
The shining keys of heaven's gate of gold. 

"Thy loved one liveth still. Weep not so sore, 
He waits thee where farewells are heard no more." 

"Hence ! ye vain visitants !" I wildly cried, 
"Mock not my grief, yon hallowed dust beside ! 

"Give me again the manly shelt'ring breast, 
The warm, fond lips on mine so often pressed ; 
(106) 



JOB, CHAP. XVI., VERSE 2. 1Q j 

"Give me the strong, true arm on which I leant, 
The loving eyes on mine in fondness bent; 

"Then speak of consolation; but not here, 
While yon dear clay lies cold upon the bier. 

"Though we may meet again (ah ! where and how?) 
Long years of anguish lie 'twixt then and now. 

"I shall behold him. O thou mocking Fate ! 
There is a lifetime of despair to wait. 

"Can grief like mine be slain by empty breath? 
Give to my dead love life, or give me death ! 

"No consolation have ye brought to me. 
Hence ! miserable comforters are ye." 

A rush of white wings stirred the startled air, 
And I was left alone with my despair. 



THE NEGLECTED GRAVE. 

The storm of grief has long since died away, 
Hearts ceased to ache, and fruitless tears to flow; 

Behold the grave, unvisited, undecked, 
Forgotten ! 'Twas so many years ago. 

The rank grass waves in unmolested pride, 
Untrodden now by loving pilgrim feet : 

The vagrant rosebush, only, on the mound 
Lays funeral tribute of its blossoms sweet. 

Over the headstone creeps the hiding moss, 
Blotting the graven words with fingers slow : 

The wand' ring vine there hangs unchecked its veil — 
None seek to read the mournful record now. 

Who slumbers there ? No answer from the stone : 
No mourners near give tender sad reply ; 

The echoes knew the name once ; but the breeze 
Bears no response upon its passing sigh. 
(108) 



THE NEGLECTED GRAVE. I09 

This grave once darkened earth for many hearts : 
Life lost its lustre and the sun its gold ; 

And woeful weepers wailed, "Console us, Death! 
Earth holds no consolation." Now, behold! 



Forgotten ! By the death-bed stands Despair : 
Then comes a space of agony and weeping; 

And then the world goes on, the mourners smile, 
And Joy awakes, although the loved lie sleeping. 

Ah, loving God! that bring'st Time's healing balm 

To bruised hearts that else would break with sorrow- 
That grants soft slumbers to the night of Grief, 
And sends the splendors of a new to-morrow, — 

Thou didst not will it so, that we should weep 
Over dear graves forever and forever : 

'Tis Thou that whisperest tenderly, "Some day," 
When we in anguish cry, "Ah, never! never!" 

Nor do we all forget, when kindly Time 

Has bidden us to cease despair and weeping : 

Sorrow may perish, but within our hearts 

Love dwells forever — Love, not dead but sleeping. 

10* 



no THE NEGLECTED GRAVE. 

And the dear dead ! they blame us not to-day 

For eyes that weep not, lips that learn new smiling ; 

Yet they forget us not — the perfect love 

Of heaven knows no changing or beguiling. 

Beyond the dread gate dwell the loved and lost, 
Waiting till we, the living, pass the portal, 

Leaving behind the world's bewilderments, 
And bearing with us only love immortal. 

Fair forms shall greet us then, whose eyes will lend 
New light to quicken Memory's smould'ring ember, 

And voices long unheard shall cry aloud, 

"Remember us!" and we shall straight remember. 

So better thus : the lonely mound, where come 
The vagrant vines to deck the fading sod, 

The tear-drops of the rain, the wind's soft sigh, 
And over all the unforgetting God ! 



PRINCESS AND PAGE. 



Spring in France is sunny and fair, 
Spring's sweet odors enchant the air. 

Into the Louvre's casement wide 
Poureth the sunshine's golden tide. 

Princess Marguerite standeth there, 
Jeweled daisies amid her hair. 

She glances down and whispers low, 
"Who is the page that waits below? 

"Yon handsome youth with joyous air, 
With broad white brow and shining hair. ' ' 

The page looks up — his eager glance 
Rests on the fairest face in France. 

Glance answers glance with meaning sweet, 
Fair page — fair Princess Marguerite. 

I in) 



112 PRINCESS AND PAGE. 

II. 

The summer's scented zephyrs glide 
Into the Louvre's casement wide. 

Summer's sunshine in golden sheen 
Glimmers around Queen Catharine. 

."What handsome page," she mutters low, 
"Is he that waiteth now below? 

"The velvet cap that crowns his curls 
Is clasped with a daisy wrought of pearls. 

"Last night he sang an old song sweet, 
'Si douce, si douce, est la Marguerite.' 

"I hear and heed; so have a care, 
My handsome page — my daughter fair ! ' ' 



in. 

The autumn winds chant wild refrain 
Above the dark and sullen Seine. 

A pallid moon with spectral light 
Changes to ghostly day the night. 



PRINCESS AND PAGE. IT3 



Over the river's bosom spread, 
Widens a stain of fearful red : 

Out of the depths there rises now 
A pale dead face with cloven brow, 

And tangled 'mid the blood-stained curls 
There gleams a daisy wrought of pearls. 



LEMIRA. 

Mine eyes are burning, my heart is aching, 

With bitter burden of unshed tears, 
The shadow of Death has sudden fallen 

Across bright mem'ries of sunny years. 
Nightly my thanks unto God I uttered 

For one true friendship that I had won, 
Now in my anguish I cry, despairing, 

Who will love me as you have done ? 

Fourteen years we have loved each other, 

And never a cloud came over their sun, 
Never a look, and never a whisper, 

Never an action I'd have undone. 
Oh, gentle heart that I loved so dearly ! 

How bitter to-day were the tears I shed, 
Could I remember I e'er had spoken 

One word to you, dear, that I'd wish unsaid, 

No, I have wounded or wronged you never, 
Like to your own was the love I gave. 
(ii4) 



LEMIRA. U S 

Now on our long and unclouded friendship 
Falls the first shadow — 'tis from your grave. 

Death our affection hath consecrated, 

Come what chances and change what may, 

Nothing can change the olden loving, 
Nothing can steal your heart away. 

Somewhere, somewhere, I know you love me, 

Out of hearing and out of sight. 
Once, by the chances of War divided, 

We loved and trusted in Fate's despite. 
And still I trust you. No change has touched you, 

For you were so near to angelhood, 
You had but to drop your soul's clay vesture, 

And there the perfected angel stood. 

Oh, darling ! darling ! my tears are streaming, 

They are the first you e'er caused me shed ; 
Oh for the touch of your loving kisses ! 

Oh for the sound of fond words you've said ! 
Still in my anguish, I thank God ever 

For that dear life that has passed away ; 
I'd rather have you, O my dead darling! 

Than a thousand of living friends to day. 



A PRESENTIMENT. 

Heart, take thy fill of pleasure ! 

Hereafter cometh pain. 
Take now this gift of gladness, 

'Twill ne'er be thine again. 
The springtime and the summer 

Shall brighten o'er the sea, 
This vision of their beauty 

Shall be unseen by thee. 

The sun in golden splendor 

Shall flush the waves with light, 
The moonlight soft and tender 

Shall glorify the night. 
The waves with loving murmur 

Shall kiss the sleeping shore, 
Where thou shalt stand hereafter 

Ah, never — never more ! 

The tender kiss of summer 
Shall wake the buds to bloom, 
(116) 



A PRESENTIMENT. 

The gentle breath of summer 
Shall lend the breeze perfume ; 

But sight, and sound, and sweetness, 
Upon this fairest shore, 

Are thine but for a season, 
And shall be thine no more. 

I know not whence the mandate, 

Whose accents strange and deep, 
In solemn words of warning, 

Now o'er my spirit sweep. 
I know not whose the voices, 

Whose fiat soundeth stern, 
* ' t Soon cometh thy departure, 

And never thy return.' ' 

Look out upon the landscape, 

And whisper, "It is fair;" 
Let parted lips and smiling 

Draw fragrance from the air : 
Heart, take thy fill of pleasure 

While summer sunsets burn ; 
Soon cometh the departing, 

And never the return. 

ii 



ii7 



MISERRIMUS. 

I shaped a fair and stately sepulchre 
From pallid marble of Pentelicus, 
And on the door I graved a single word, 
" Miserrimus. " 

And then I cried, "Whom shall I bid to rest 
In this fair tomb, that I have shapen thus? 
What dead man claims the crown of wretchedness, — 
Miserrimus ?" 

I wandered forth amid the midnight graves, 
I called upon the sleepers to arise, 
And the long-buried dead came forth, and gazed 
With dim, unseeing eyes. 

I asked a youth, upon whose ashen lips 
The wine-cup stain yet lingered, "Is it thus 
That those have died who name themselves in death 
Miserrimus ? M 
(118) 



MISERRIMUS. n 9 

A sudden tremor shook the shrouded form, 
And something like to life-breath heaved the breast : 
"Blest was the death that said, 'Go, sin no more. 
God loveth us. We rest.' " 



I passed to where a youthful lover lay, 
By death divided from his love. "And thus," 
I cried, " he slumbers who in death is named 
Miserrimus." 



And lo ! a voice from out the stony lips 
Replied, " O mortal, wherefore judge of Fate ? 
We are but parted for a fleeting space. 

God loveth us. We wait. ' ' 



And then I lingered where a hero lay, 
One of the world's predestined rulers. " He, 
Who might have won a crown, yet lieth low, 
Must taste death's misery." 

Again an answer from the realms of death : 
"Who plucks the Dead Sea fruit shall never keep. 
What though the ashes all untasted fell, 
God loveth me. I sleep." 



120 MISERRIMUS. 

And then I moaned, " Shall I no tenant find 
For this fair tomb that I have shapen thus ? 
God giveth His beloved sleep. Where lies 
Miserrimus? ,, 

And lo ! an aged man, upon whose brow 
The life yet lingered, slowly came to me, 
And said, in broken accents, " Yonder word 
Befits my misery. 

" Mine are the days that bring no joy or hope, 
The grass is green above the lips I pressed ; 
I have outlived all love and all delight, 

And have not yet found rest. 

"Yes, I, the living, well may claim to dwell 
Behind yon pale slab from Pentelicus. 
Who hopeth not, nor resteth, thou may'st name 
Miserrimus. ' ' 



THE SINGER. 

" What porridge had John Keats?" — Browning. 

The revel reigned in kingly halls, 
The mirth was fast and free ; 

They called the bard to lend the feast 
The charm of minstrelsy. 

He came, and sang of knightly deeds, 

Of battles lost and won, 
Of hero deaths and laurel crowns — 

And still the feast went on. 

He sang of beauty and of love, 

Of poet-dreams divine. 
Some boasted of their steeds and swords, 

Some praised the purple wine. 

t 
The melody unheeded rose, 

Where jest and laughter rang. 

Who recked the minstrel or his lay ? 

Who heard the song he sang ? 

II* ( 121 ) 



I2 2 THE SINGER. 

Ah ! there was one, who sat apart 

Silent amid the throng, 
Whose changing cheek and moistened eye 

Confessed the power of song. 

And as the music died away 

In cadence low and sweet, 
The richest gem that young knight wore 

Fell at the minstrel's feet. 

So sings the poet in the mart 

Where jest and scoff are ringing, 

Nor knows what sympathizing heart 
Respondeth to his singing. 

If one amid the careless crowd 

Pauses to hear his strain, 
And better, nobler, turns away, 

He has not sung in vain. 

And, though unheeded he may sing 
And win but sneer and blame, 

Hereafter at his feet may fall 
Earth's fairest jewel — Fame. 



THE TRIUMPH OF DEATH. 

When Time and Sin first trod the virgin world 
With them I came, a conqueror and king. 

Abel first did me homage. Since that day 
Earth is a temple for my worshiping. 

Each breeze that passes, on its wings doth bear 

To me the accents of unheeded prayer. 

Lo ! Christ hath conquered me for those who die ; 

But who shall conquer me for those who live ? 
What, to the mourners o'er the dear and dead, 

Shall hope and peace and sweet contentment give ? 
When o'er Joy's noontide rolls my rayless night, 
What voice shall cry aloud, Let there be light ? 

Thus to the mourner's breaking heart I speak, 
Mine are the treasures thou didst deem so fair, 

Pray for my coming an thou wilt ; I heed 
Never the accents of a human prayer. 

Do thou implore me, Hear and heed and save ! 

And I will answer — with an open grave. 

( 123) 



I2 4 THE TRIUMPH OF DEATH 

And I will take the sweetness from thy life, 

Hereafter savorless because of me ; 
And I will blot the brightness from the skies, 

The living lustre from the laughing sea, 
And on the morning's gold, the sunset's red, 
Will grave one word to darken heaven — dead ! 

And thou shalt rise at morn, and only loathe 
The glowing footsteps of the golden day ; 

Thou shalt lie down at night, and sleep no more 
Shall come to kiss thy heavy griefs away ; 

Or mocking dreams shall haunt thee — dreams so fair 

That in awakening will lie despair. 

All other ills of life thou mayst repair : 

Thou mayst win back lost gold, find cures for pain, 
And hearts estranged thou mayst lure back to love ; 

The vanished dreams of youth thou mayst regain, 
And e'en the stain of Slander's poison-breath 
Thou mayst efface ! Not so the seal of Death ! 

No prayer from loving lips can stay my stroke ; 

I heed no summons from Despair or Hate : 
I am the one dread certainty of earth, 

The awful and inexorable fate. 
I trample every joy of Heaven's giving, 
And Life itself I make not worth the living. 



THE TRIUMPH OF DEATH. 



125 



" O Grave, where is thy victory?" Behold ! 

Wide lies my battle-field and thickly strown. 
" O Death, where is thy sting?" O breaking hearts ! 

O pallid lips, that make unceasing moan ! 
Give ye mine answer till I steal your breath ; 
For Death alone can heal the wounds of Death. 

Where are the homes where I have entered not ? 

Where is the heart that never felt my sting ? 
The whole wide world is full of graves and tears ; 

Life is a weeping slave, and Death is king. 
Till in my grasp melt earth and sky and sea, 
Mine is the scepter — mine the victory ! 



A VISION OF THE HOUR. 

Upon a lofty steep, against whose shores 
The billows of Eternity were hurled, 

Two mighty shapes of Empire I beheld, 
Who claimed to rule the world. 

One was a splendid, half-barbaric queen, 

Whose glance majestic sought the Eastern skies : 

The other, beauteous sovereign, made earth bright 
With her benignant eyes. 

And she, the goddess, — grand and seraph-fair, — 
Spake thus in tones that rang o'er land and sea: 

"I shape, afar beneath the Western stars, 
The Empire of the Free. 

"For love of me, who am so wondrous fair, 
The nations of the world forsake their lands, 

And come to claim God's noblest gift since Christ — 
Liberty — from my hands. 

(126) 



A VISION OF THE HOUR. 127 

"I break the captive's galling chain : I give 
The tyrant-trodden and the weary rest : 

Mine is the realm where guards the Evening Star 
The sunset-purpled West." 



Then spake the other proud, imperial shape : 

"The Crescent yet shall wane beneath my tread: 

My gaze is fixed where in far Orient skies 
Flameth the morning's red. 

"Upon my banner burns the blazoned Cross: 
The Pagan plagues that curse the Land of Day 

Beneath the sweep of my imperial robe 
Shall pass like mists away. 

"We are the great co-heiresses of Time 
To that grand heritage, the world to be: 

Tried friends, fond sisters — what shall part us twain ? 
Columbia — Muscovy ! 

"We look not backward to a shadowy Past, 
Where pallid specters wander and make moan : 

O sister ! sovereign of the Sunset Land ! 
The Future is our own ! ' ' 



128 A VISION OF THE HOUR. 

Unto these twain a third queen sudden came, 
With flashing eyes and wild locks flowing free, 

Who cried aloud, in clarion-sounding tones, 
" Room ! — room for Germany ! 

66 Place for me, sisters, on the world's wide throne: 
The stains of War are red upon my hands, 

Won, like the dust that dims my garment's hem, 
In my assailer's lands. 

"The Spoiler's steel flashed bright before my breast, 
Earth held her breath to hear my dying groans : 

I hurled him back to gasp his life away 
'Mid wreck of shattered thrones. 

"Give place and greeting, sister of the Dawn! 

For mine are empire now, and victory : 
Smile on me, sister of the Sunset Land ! 

I too shall yet be free !" 



THE MODERN BELSHAZZAR. 

PARIS, JULY, 1870. 

Fair rose Belshazzar's palace 'neath the sun; 

Those who once entered there, with dazzled eyes 
Cried, " Having seen this marvel, naught remains 

To see save Paradise. 

"For all enchantments human sense hath known 
Here in one dream of loveliness combine, 

We turn from all the other haunts of earth 
To hail this spot divine." 

And in that regal hall a feast was set 

And garlands wreathed, and 'neath the golden flame 
Of countless torches rose exulting songs 

That hymned Belshazzar's fame. 

Pleasure was there, and Luxury and Sin, 
Unhallowed aspirations, lust of pow'r; 

These were the guests Belshazzar smiled to greet 
In that triumphal hour. 

12 ( 129 ) 



130 THE MODERN BELSHAZZAR. 

But lo ! the wine his minions poured was red, 
Not with the healthful ruby of the vine ; 

Dread was the dull opaque that dimmed the cup 
Beneath the torches' shine. 

And at Belshazzar's side there sat a shape 

Shadowy, shrouded, terrible to see, 
To whom the monarch: " Brother king, this feast 

Is spread to honor thee. 

" Behold, I turn from all my other guests, 

Though fair of face and sweet with scented 
breath, 

To bid my slaves pour forth thy fav'rite wine, 
Thou mighty sovereign, Death ! ' ' 

E'en as he speaks, the lights in sudden flare 
Leap up and vanish in a rayless gloom, 

And that which was the banquet hall of kings 
Seems but a mighty tomb. 



And o'er the wall, lit by supernal light, 
There stray the fingers of a spectral hand, 

Tracing in flaming characters the doom 
That waits the fated land. 



THE MODERN BELSHAZZAR. I3I 

And pale Belshazzar totters from his throne, 
An abject, terrified, discrowned thing; 

Scepter and crown fall clashing to the floor, 
And Death alone is King ! 

The songs are hushed, all guests, save one, are fled, 
The spilled wine steals in red streams through the 
hall; 

O'er withered wreath and shattered flagon flames 
The writing on the wall I 



TRANSLATIONS 
FROM THE GERMAN. 



THE MINSTREL'S SONG. 

Und legt ihr zwischen mich und sie 
Auch Strom und Thai und Hiigel. 

Though now there lie, 'twixt thee and me, 

The vale, the hill, the river, 
They part us not, those mighty ones, 

For song hath pinions ever. 
I am a minstrel, widely known, 

While on my way I'm wending, 
Through every land and every clime 
One song to Heav'n I'm sending : 

I've loved thee well, thou sweetest, 

Through joy and pain untold ; 
I've loved thee well, and greet thee 
A thousand, thousandfold. 

When through the leafy wood I go 
Where finch and thrush are singing, 

12* (133) 



134 



THE MINSTREL'S SONG. 

My song the winged people learn ; 

Soon from their throats 'tis ringing. 
The wind doth joyful spread his wings 

When from the heath he heareth, 
And swift my song, o'er mount and stream, 
And farther still, he beareth : 

I've loved thee well, thou sweetest, 

Through joy and pain untold ; 
I've loved thee well, and greet thee 
A thousand, thousandfold. 

Through town and village still I play, 

And over field and mountain, 
Till, with her pitcher, sings the maid 

My song beside the fountain ; 
The hunter hums it to himself 

While through the beech-wood going; 
The fisher, to his rudder's creak, 
Sings, while his net he 's throwing : 

I've loved thee well, thou sweetest, 

Through joy and pain untold ; 
I've loved thee well, and greet thee 
A thousand, thousandfold. 

And coolest wind and forest bird, 

And fisher, hunter, maiden, 
They all my messengers must be 

With word to thee, love, laden. 



THE MINSTREL'S SONG. 



i3S 



And so in earnest or in jest 

At last thine ear it greeteth ; 
Thou know'st the sender as thou hear'st, 
Thy heart so wildly beateth : 

I've loved thee well, thou sweetest, 

Through joy and pain untold ; 
I've loved thee well, and greet thee 
A thousand, thousandfold. 

Geibel, 



THE STARS. 

Sind die Sterne fromme Lammer. 

Are the stars the lambs of heaven 
That, when fades the day on high, 

Night, the shepherdess, doth lead 
To the blue fields of the sky ? 

Are they lilies, silver lilies, 

That, from out their cups of light, 

Pour the fragrant waves of slumber 
On the weary earth all night ? 

Are they lighted tapers, shining 

On the holy altar high, 
When the deep and solemn darkness 

Fills the wide dome of the sky ? 

No ! they are the silver letters 

In which loving angels write, 
On the azure page of heaven, 
Countless songs in lines of light. 

Geibel. 
(136) 



TOUCH NOT. 

Wo still ein Herz von Liebe gliiht. 

Where glows a heart with silent love 
Lay not thy reckless hand thereon ; 

Extinguish not the heavenly spark ; 
Indeed, indeed, 'twere not well done ! 

If e'er a spot all unprofaned 

Is found upon this world of ours, 

It is a youthful human heart 

When first it yields to pure Love's pow'rs. 

Oh, grant thou still the dream that comes 
'Mid rosy blossoms of the May ! 

Thou know' st not what a paradise 
Doth with that vision pass away. 

There broke full many a valiant heart 
When love was reft away by fate, 

And many, surf' ring, wander forth, 
Filled with all bitterness and hate. 

(i37) 



i 3 8 TOUCH NOT. 

And many bleeding, wounded sore, 
Shriek loud for hopes forever fled, 

And mid the world's dust fling them down, 
For godlike Love to them was dead. 

And weep, complain, e'en as thou wilt, 

Not all thy penitence and pain 
Can cause a faded rose to bloom, 

Or bid a dead heart live again. 

Geibel 



YEARNING. 

Nun wandelt von den Bergen sacht. 

Down from the mount, with footstep light, 

Glides to the lake the summer night ; 

Throughout its deepest shades I go 

The while with dreams my soul doth glow ; 

The blossomed vine, with fragrance rare, 

Intoxicates the passing air \ 

The glow-worm weaves its path of light 

Unto the tower walls afar, 
And overhead with deepest fire 

Looks down on me each mystic star. 

This is the hour when yearning strong 
Fashions the scented air to song; 
Yearning that, deep in rock, wood, dell, 
In every creature's heart doth dwell; 
Yearning that with resistless might 
Forces through rocks the spring to light. 
It bids the forest stretch to heav'n 
Its thousand verdant arms in vain ; 

(i39) 



140 



YEARNING. 

It rings as echoes from the cliff; 

It wanders in the wind's wild strain : 
We hear it in the music-wails 
Of silver-throated nightingales ; 
And from the mild eyes of the flow'rs 
Its silent soul looks up to ours. 

Yearning ! thou who, like a child, 
Though lulled with sweetest songs asleep, 

Dost ever waken and arise 

Only anew to wail and weep, 
How dost thou heart and soul to-day 
With thy complaining bear away ! 
Oh would that I might pinions wear 
And disembodied cleave the air ! 

1 must bestow with willing mind 
All that my being holds enshrined ; 
My overflowing heart's whole treasure, 
Love, reverence, and pain, and pleasure; 
All that my inmost heart holds stored — 
All, must I, in a single word, 

As in one golden cup fling free, 

Then pour all spendthrift forth to thee. 

In vain ! No word, however great, 
Can free us from the force of fate ; 



YEARNING. 

To quench the soul's thirst we may bring 

The waters of no earthly spring. 

Ah ! once I dreamed in golden hours — 

The sunny May-time of the heart- 
That I the mystic secret knew, 

That Love could bid all pangs depart ; 
What then I prized, what held so dear, 
Is mine — the yearning still is here. 

Then rest, O troubled heart ! and know 
Not every bloom to fruit doth grow; 
Thou bear'st in thee, Earth's silent guest, 
What seeketh heaven with wild unrest, 
What drives thee ever on thy way 

Of darkness and of weariness; 
It is the first thrill of the wings 

Inclosed within the chrysalis ; 
Thyself scarce know'st thy pang to be 
Homesickness for Eternity. 



141 



Geibel. 



13 



THE TWO ANGELS. 

O kennst du, Herz, die beiden Schwesterengel. 

Know' st thou, O heart, the two fair sister angels 
That unto us descend from realms above ? 

One with the lily branch, benignant Friendship, 
The other, crowned with roses, witching Love. 

Dark locked is Love, and radiantly glowing, 

Fair as the Spring when blossoms burst to light ; 

Friendship, blonde tressed in softest colors blooming, 
And mild and tranquil as a summer's night. 

Love is a restless sea, amid whose tumult 
Wave upon wave rolls ever to the shore ; 

Friendship, a mountain lake whose deep, clear waters 
Give back the face of heaven evermore. 

Love breaks upon us like a flash of lightning ; 

Like moonlight Friendship stealeth gently in : 
Love ever craveth conquest and possession ; 

Friendship doth give, nor seeks return to win. 

(142) 



THE TWO ANGELS. I43 

Thrice happy and thrice fortunate the bosom 

Where in a friendly union both abide, 

And where in bright and mystic beauty mingled 

The rose and lily blossom side by side. 

Geibel. 



AUTUMNAL MUSINGS. 



O war 'es bios der Wange Pracht 
Die mit den Jahren flieht. 



Would it were but the bloom of youth 

That doth with years depart ! 
Alas, too fades, oh, mournful thought ! 

The freshness of the heart. 

How dies the voice of Youth away ! 

The glance grows dim, unmoved, 
And the warm heart, that once so throbbed, 

Forgets e'en that it loved. 

Though freely from our daring lips 

May wit and jesting flow, 
'Tis only like the mocking green 

That over graves doth grow. 

The night comes — with the night comes grief; 

The mockery is o'er : 
Tears, tears alone can bless our hearts, 

And tears we find no more. 
(*44) 



AUTUMNAL MUSINGS. 145 

We are so poor, we are so sad, 

And why we scarce can deem ; 
We only know our hearts are dead, 

And joy is but a dream. 

Geibel. 



13* 



TOO OLD. 

O sieh mich nicht so lachelnd an. 

O human rosebud, maiden fair, 
Look not so smilingly on me ! 
Thy glance, that well might bless a world, 
But thrills my soul with agony. 
My heart to deeper sadness 

Thy friendliness doth move ; 
Forever past, forever 
The days of love. 

Were I but young and glad as thou, 
Were I from woe and sin as free, 
How would my heart now beat for thine, 
How blest together we might be ! 
Unto what magic power 

Did I that sweet dream owe ? 
Alas ! what doth with blossoms 
The withered bough ? 

My life has reached its sunset hour ; 
Thine enters on its sunny day ; 
(146) 



147 



TOO OLD. 

My heart is cold, my heart is dead, 
Thine throbs as ever light and gay. 
Thy happiness thou seest 

Far 'mid the Future's glow ; 
My sad gaze seeks returning 
The long ago. 



Then, human rosebud, maiden fair, 

Look not with friendliness on me ! 
Thy glance, that well might bless a world, 
But thrills my soul with agony. 
No, let me forth to wander 
Far o'er land and wave ; 
Thou' It find another lover, 
And I — a grave. 

Geibel. 



SEEST THOU THE SEA? 

Siehst du das Meer? Es glanzt auf seiner Fluth. 

Seest thou the sea ? How glitters on its breast 

The morning light ! 
Yet in the depths wherein the pearls do rest 

Is darkest night. 

That sea am I. How in proud waves has roll'd 

My mind's unrest ! 
My songs have sparkled like the sunlight gold 

Upon its breast. 

How joyous oft has rung th' enchanted strain 

With love and jest, 
While bled my heart amid its silent pain 

Hid in my breast ! 

Geibel. 

(i 4 8) 



FAREWELL. 

Den letzten Becher bring' ich dir. 

In one last cup I drink to thee, 

Thou fair and foreign strand ! 
Ah, bitter 'tis to part from thee 

As from my fatherland ! 
Farewell, farewell ! The wind doth press 

The sail with sportive zeal ; 
And on the green and rushing wave 

Doth heave the vessel's keel. 

The sun sinks in the island sea, 

The light glows rosy red ; 
Still gleams before me yonder house 

Where our farewells were said. 
How gladly would I, fairest child, 

Have lingered with thee there ! 
In vain ! the dream has faded now — 

The dream that was so fair. 

Ay, such is life — to come, to go, 
By wind and wave thus driven ; 

(*49) 



*5° 



FAREWELL. 

Sent forth, to nevermore return, 
When scarce we've found a haven. 

To be belov'd, to be forgot, 
To love — the sunset light 

Methinks must surely dazzle me, 
So dim has grown my sight ! 

'Tis past, 'tis past. The tears are shed, 

Ended are joy and pain ; 
Forth rushes to the busy world 

This untamed heart again. 
So let it be. The moon's first ray 

Doth deck the wave with light. 
The shore recedes. — My maiden fair, 

For the last time, good-night ! 

Geibel. 



THE WATER-LILY. 

Die stille Wasserrose. 

The beauteous water-lily 
Floats on the azure stream ; 

Around her snow-white calyx 
Glisten the leaves and gleam. 

The moon pours down from heaven 

A flood of golden light ; 
Pours down its fairest moonbeams 

Into her bosom white. 

Circling around the flower 
A fair white swan doth go ; 

He looks upon the lily, 
And singeth soft and low. 

So soft and sweet he singeth, 
The while he glides along, 

O lily, snow-white lily, 

Canst understand his song ? 



Geibel. 

(i'sO 



PERGOLESE. 



Endlich ist das Werk vollendet, 
Und der fromme Meister sendet. 



Now at last his work he endeth, 
And the pious Master sendeth 

Up his thanks to Heaven's throne : 
Through the arched cathedral swelling, 
In majestic billows welling, 

Flow now song and organ tone : 

Stabat mater dolorosa 
Juxta crucem lachrymosa, 

Dum pendebat films, 
Cujus animam gementem 
Contristatem ac dolentem 

Pertransivit gladius. 

And the Virgin's sorrows holy 
Fill each heart with* melancholy, 
While the* organ deeper swells; 

(152) 



PERGOLESE. 

Yet the melodies of heaven 
Make the very pang forgiven 
That in tears of sorrow wells. 

Quis est homo, qui non fleret 
Christi matrem si videret 

In tanto supplicio? 
Quis non posso contristari 
Piam matrem contemplari 

Dolentem cum filio ? 

Pious awe and holy rapture 
Hold the Master's soul in capture, 

Death foreboding, earnest, mild ; 
Trustfully his eyes he raiseth, 
And upon the altar gazeth, 

On the Virgin and the Child. 

Virgo virginum prseclara, 
Mihi jam non sis amara, 

Fac me tecum plangere, 
Fac ut portem Christi mortem 
Passionis ego sortem 

Et plagas recolere. 

Hark ! The Seraph voices ringing, 

In the choir of heaven singing, 

Fill the ear with awed delight ; 
14 



153 



154 



PERGOLESE. 

Holy spirits, earth-descending, 
Heavenward bear the Master, wending, 
Upward, upward to the light. 

Fac me cruce custodiri, 

Morte Christi prsemuniri, 

Confoveri gratia ; 

Quando corpus morietur, 

Fac ut animae donetur 

Paradisi gloria. 

Geibel. 



THE TWO KINGS. 

Zwei Konige sassen auf Orkadal. 

Two kings sat stately at Orcadal ; 

Bright flamed the torch in the pillared hall. 

The harpers sang. Bright sparkled the wine ; 
The kings looked darkly into its shine. 

Then spoke one : " Give thou to me the girl 
With azure eyes and with brow of pearl.* ' 

The other answer'd, with angry scorn, 
"She's mine, and I'll keep her; so I've sworn!" 

The kings spoke never another word ; 
Each one arose, and each took his sword. 

And forth from the lighted hall they go ; 
Deep by the castle wall lies the snow. 

Out flash their swords, and the lights die all ; 

Two kings have fallen at Orcadal. 

Geibel. 

(155) 



MY SONGS. 



Gold'ne Briicken seien 
Alle Lieder mir. 



Bridges, golden bridges, 
Are these songs of mine. 

O'er them Love doth travel 
From my heart to thine. 

And the wings of dreaming 
Shall, in joy and smart, 

Every night still bear me 
To thy faithful heart. 



Geibel. 



(156) 



FREDERICK THE GREAT AT SANS 

SOUCI. 

Dies ist der Konigspark. 

This is the royal park. See, trees — turf — flowers — 
See, from their shells stone Tritons blow bright 
showers \ 

And in the fountain's breast the white nymph shines. 
See Flora's statue where the rose-trees stand, 
And see the shady walks as primly plann'd, 

And smooth as Boileau's lines. 

Passing the house where strange bird-voices blend, 
Let us the terrace's high slope ascend 

Where, crown 'd with fallow green, the orange 
grows ; 
There tow'rs o'er all, where fir and beech entwine, 
The castle whose broad casements in long line 

With evening's fire glow. 

And there, with sunken head, a man reclines ; 
His blue eye muses, and oft sudden shines 

As through the thunder-cloud the lightning flits. 

14* ( 157 ) 



i58 



FREDERICK THE GREAT AT SANS SO UCI. 



A cocked hat shades his brow ; and in his hand 
He holds a cane, and scribbles in the sand. 
Thou'rt right ; it is King Fritz ! 

He sits, and thinks, and writes. Canst tell his 

thought ? 
With bygone battles are his musings fraught ? 

Thinks he of Hochkirch night with flaming air? 
How flashed the cannon redly to the sky, 
How broke the squadrons of the cavalry 

His grenadiers' firm square ? 

Frames he a law to teach how mild and wise 
His war-strong nation may to beauty rise ? 

Peace greetings where the war-drum rent the air ? 
Seeks he a rhyme for some defective verse ? 
Or does he now an epigram rehearse 

To overcome Voltaire ? 

Comes now the vanished past before his sight 
When he, in dressing-gown, 'neath pale moonlight, 

Grasped his soft flute and braved his father's scorn? 
Or does he summon, from his last long rest, 
The faithful friend, alas ! whose youthful breast 

By sevenfold balls was torn ? 

Dreams he of future days ? Before his sight 
Passes the Prussian eagle's daring flight ? 
The double-headed eagle checked he sees? 



FREDERICK THE GREAT AT SANS SOUCI. 



159 



Thinks he, hereafter, how the German land 
Shall, hoping, fearing, 'neath the black wing stand? 
He thinks of none of these. 

He sighs : " O grief, to be the hero given 
Unto a people shut from Art's fair heaven ! 

To be Augustus where no Horace sings ! 
What good from foreign swans white plumes to 

borrow ? 
Yet what remains us else ? Appear, O morrow ! 

That unto us the God beloved brings. ' ' 

He speaks, and dreams not that the morning's glow 
Kisses the horizon ; that even now 

The wreath is grasped by youthful Goethe's hand ; 
That he doth lead the timid, blushing child, 
The German Muse, from far-off Taxus wild, 

To the free Minstrel Land. 

Geibel. 



BOTHWELL. 



Wie zittert Konigin Marie. 



How trembled Mary, Scotland's Queen, 
When through the secret door at night, 

With unbowed head and unbent knee, 
Earl Bothwell strode before her sight ! 

Pallid as death her fair face grew ; 

She, trembling, looked with asking gaze; 
He dashed the drops from off his brow, 

" The deed is done !" he darkly says. 

" 'Tis done ! thy beauty shall no more 

Upon that boy be cast away ; 
This evening, at eight o'clock, 

Kept Darnley his Ascension Day." 

She wildly shrieked, " May God forbid ! 
Take all my gold, take all and flee !" 
Then loud he laughed, in grim disdain, 
"Thou giv'st me gold for blood, Marie." 
(160) 



BOTHWELL. ^i 

"I love thee, and, should Hell itself 
Claim me for what this night befell, 

It was for thee, alone for thee ; 

Thou art the fairest fiend of Hell!" 

"The hand that robbed a King of life 
Can seize a Queen ! ' ' he loudly calls ; 

With terror on each feature traced, 
She, like a waxen image, falls. 

He raised her up; she felt not how 
His coat of mail her soft flesh rent ; 

The rippled tresses of her hair 

Flowed o'er his shoulder as he went. 

He swung her on his horse, he forced 

His ring upon her frozen hand, 
Then toward the castle of Dunbar 

Fled o'er the tempest-threatened land. 

Dark was the night, above, around, 
Extinguished seemed each kindly star ; 

A glitter, like a falling axe, 

Flashed sometimes o'er the clouds afar. 

Geibel 



JULIN. 

Es rauscht der Wind, es rinnt die Welle. 

Soft sighs the breeze, soft flows the wave, 
Swift flies the vessel on her way, 

To yonder ledge of chalky rock. 

" There/ ' says the captain, " Julin lay." 

Julin, the city by the sea, 

Swept by the silent flood away. 

How comes the old tradition back 
To my foreboding heart to-day ! 

I think how in my childhood days, 
My soul rejoiced in fabled lore ; 

My sister many a wondrous tale 
Told me at eve beside the door. 

Clearly my mind recalls the scene : 

We sat upon a bench of stone ; 
In the next garden lindens bloomed ; 
The moon in heaven brightly shone. 
(162) 



JUL IN. l63 

The slender Gothic gables rose 

Solemnly where the shadows fell, 
And now and then rang out o'erhead 

The chimes of sweet St. Mary's bell. 

Then in we went to evening prayers ; 

Then slumber soothed my childish brain, 
And I the buried cities built 

In splendor in my dreams again. 

O boyish dreams, so bright, so pure, 

O youthful joys, where did ye flee ? 

Soft sighs the breeze, soft flows the wave : 

Julin — Vineta — where are ye ? 

Geibel. 



DANTE. 

Einsam durch Verona's Gassen wandelt einst der grosse Dante. 

Through the streets of fair Verona once alone great 

Dante went, 
When the bard of Florence wandered from his land in 

banishment ; 

And it chanced a little maiden, as he passed, the poet 

spied ; 
And she spake thus to her sister, who was sitting by her 

side : 

"Sister, look, there goes that Dante who descended 

into hell ; 
On his dusky brow are written gloom and horror — 

mark him well. 

"In that city of the torments he has seen such anguish 

sore 
That an inward terror holds him, and he smileth 



nevermore." 



(164 



DANTE. 



165 



Dante heard, and turned toward her — from his lips 

these accents fell : 
"To forget the trick of smiling I need no descent to 

hell. 

"All the suffering I depicted — every torment, every 

wound — 

Here upon this earth already, ay, in Florence, I have 

found." 

Geibel. 



15 



I AND THOU. 



Ich bin die Rose auf der Au\ 



I am a rose, that in the field 
Breathes to the breeze perfume ; 

love, thou art the cooling dew 
That wakes me unto bloom ! 

1 am the jewel darkly hid 

In gloomy mines below ; 
Thou art the sunbeam in whose light 
My varied colors glow. 

I am the crystal goblet whence 
A monarch drinks his wine ; 

Thou art the sweet empurpled wave 
Whose splendors through me shine. 

I am the gloomy thunder-cloud 
That sweeps across the skies; 
Thou art the shining rainbow, love, 
That on my bosom lies. 
(166) 



/ AND THOU. i6j 

I am the Memnon, dumb and dead, 

The desert sands among; 
Thou art the crimson light of day 

That wakes my breast to song. 

I am an erring man that gropes 

Amid bewildering night ; 
Thou art an angel sent from God 

To lead me to the light. 

Geibel. 



THE CASTLE OF EGER. 

Larmend, im Schloss zu Eger. 

With noisy mirth, in Eger's halls, 

Sit drinking ruby wine 
The three most loved and trusted friends 

Of princely Wallenstein. 
Illo, Tertsky, and Kinsky there 

Above their wine-cups jest : 
The camp has been their only home, 

And war their only rest. 

The torches glow with festive light, 

But Tertsky darkly says, 
" Is 't night within my breast alone, 

Or is 't before my gaze? 
The dim lights gleam with pallid rays, 

As in a vault they shone, 
And the dark walls, methinks, exhale 

Death-vapors from each stone/ ' 

The wine is glowing ruby red, 

But Kinsky mutters low, 
(168) 



THE CASTLE OF EGER. 

"Nor cold nor hunger e'er had power 

To make me shudder so. 
I would I stood where raged the fight 

Of Lutzen's fatal day! 
May God protect us in this hour, 

Or else the devil may ! ' ' 

Illo alone with laugh and jest 

Lifts high the flowing bowl, 
For stab and thrust alike are vain 

To pierce his callous soul. 
His mirth is madder than of yore, 

And wilder every jest ; 
His heart must wear a coat of mail 

Like that which guards his breast. 

With drunken laughter now he shouts, 

(The very rafters shake) : 
" Far greater than a Kaiser, he 

Who can a Kaiser make ! 
A broken oath, a trust betrayed, 

Daunt coward souls, not mine, 
So drink — drink to Bohemia's king, 

To princely Wallenstein ! ' ' 

Lo ! as he speaks, the clang of steel 
Re-echoes from the wall, 
15* 



169 



170 



THE CASTLE OF EGER. 

The armed dragoons of Butler stride 

Into the banquet-hall. 
And Butler, through his visor, speaks 

In solemn tones and slow : 
"Are you the Kaiser's loyal knight? 

Are you his traitor foe ?' ' 

Out spring the good swords from their sheaths, 

As of themselves they leap; 
The lights upon the table fall 

Before their frenzied sweep. 
Still in the dark the strife goes on, 

Nor in the dark they fight : 
The flashing of their frenzied eyes 

Lends them a fearful light. 

First Tertsky falls, then Kinsky yields, 

With oaths and hate, his life, 
And Illo, seeking only death, 

Alone maintains the strife. 
Helmet and flask alike are crushed 

Beneath his frenzied blows ; 
He, as a boar still grinds in death 

His tusks, confronts his foes. 

Again the lighted torches glare 
With strange and dusky shine 



THE CASTLE OF EGER. 

Upon the floor, that glistens red 
With mingled blood and wine. 

Over the fearful banquet-hall 
The red streams blended steal, 

While at the table, silently, 
Death sitteth at his meal. 



And Butler speaks in thunder tones : 

"Nay, leave them where they fell ! 
We've gathered first the leaves, and now 

We'll strike the root as well." 
In yon far castle soon shall sound 

Wild shrieks and weeping sore ! 
Save, save thyself, Duke Wallenstein, 

Trust to the stars no more ! 

Fontane. 



171 



THE FISHER. 

Das Wasser rauscht, das Wasser schwoll. 

The water rushed, the water rose, 

A fisher sat thereby, 
And saw his float upon the wave 

Calm as his own heart lie. 
And as he sat, and as he mused, 

He saw the wave unclose, 
And from the troubled waters, slow 

A dripping maiden rose. 

She spake to him, she sang to him : 

" My brood why lure away, 
With human skill and human guile, 

To die in glow of day? 
Ah ! couldst behold our ocean home, 

So joyous and so fair, 
Thou'dst plunge at once beneath the wave, 

To dwell forever there.' ' 

"Do not the sun and moon descend 
Their burning brows to lave ? 

(172) 



173 



THE FISHER. 

Then doubly fair arise they not 
From out the cooling wave ? 

Art thou not lured by yonder sky, 
Its liquid depths of blue ? 

Does thine own image tempt thee not, 
Upsmiling from the dew?" 



The water rushed, the water rose, 

It laved his naked feet ; 
Then full of longing waxed his heart — 

A longing strange and sweet. 
She spake to him, she sang to him; 

Ah, fatal was the strain ! 
Half drew she him, half sank he in, 

And ne'er was seen again. 

Goethe. 



THE SINGERS. 

O heilige Nacht, ich singe dir ! 

O Holy Night, my song now be ! 
Proudly I ope my heart to thee. 
A nightingale, dark boughs among, 
Poured forth her dreaming soul in song — 

I sang not. 

O Morning Light, to thee I sing ! — 
Upsprang the lark on joyous wing. 
And, soaring ever near the sky, 
Sang praises to the Lord on High — 

I sang not. 

SCHERENBERG. 



(174) 



THE KING OF THULE. 

Es war ein Konig in Thule. 

There was a king in Thule, 

True even to the grave, 
To whom his loved one, dying, 

A golden goblet gave. 

He held naught else so precious, 
Naught else so safely kept ; 

At every feast he drained it, 
And as he drank he wept. 

And, dying, all his cities 
And wealth he counted up ; 

His realms he gave up freely; 
Not so the treasured cup. 

He called his knights around him ; 

A kingly feast he gave 
In yon ancestral palace, 

High up above the wave. 

(175) 



176 THE KING OF THULE. 

Up rose the old carouser, 

One last long draught drank he ; 

Then flung the hallowed goblet 
Far down into the sea. 

He saw it falling, filling, 

And sinking in the main ; 
Then closed his eyes forever ; 

He never drank again. 

Goethe. 



THEKLA— A SPIRIT VOICE. 

Wo ich sei, und wo mich hingewendet. 

Where I am, and whither I have wended 
Since my fleeting shade before thee moved ? 

Have I not life's story closed and ended? 
Have I not, O seeker, lived and loved ? 

Wouldst thou question thus the nightingale 
Who, with soulful song in Spring's bright day, 

Rapt thee with melodious enchantment ? 

Ask no more ; but while they loved, were they. 

Have I found the lost one ? Oh, believe me ! 

We are united as in days of yore, 
Where the ties that bind us none can sever, 

Where our bitter tears we weep no more. 

Thou wouldst find us there again and quickly, 

If thy love but only equaled ours ; 
There too, free from sin, doth dwell my father, 

Snatched for aye from bloody murder's powers; 

16 (177) 



178 



THEKLA—A SPIRIT VOICE. 



And he feels no mocking dream betrayed him 
When he sought to read the starry sky ; 

When all men are judged, he has found judgment ; 
To believers is the Holy nigh. 

Word is kept with each fair trusting feeling 

In yon starry spaces far away ; 
Wander' st thou through erring and through dreaming, 

Highest thought lies oft in childish play. 

Schiller. 



"FAIR HEDWIG." 

Im Kreise der Vasallen sitzt. 

Surrounded by his vassels, sits 

The young and valiant knight, 
With glowing cheek and dark bright eye, 
That gleams with fiery thoughts and high, 

As if he sought the fight. 

Forth steps a gentle maid to him, 

And fills his cup with wine ; 
Then modestly she glides away ; 
Upon her brow the fairest ray 

Of morning seems to shine. 

But quickly doth the young knight seize 

Her hand so snowy white ; 
Her azure eye, so pure and clear, 
She bends on earth, as if in fear, 

Then lifts with changeless light. 

" Fair Hedwig, who before me stand'st, 
Three things now tell me free : 

(*79) 



180 "FAIR HEDWIG." 

Whence dost thou come ? where dost thou go ? 
Why follow'st thou my footsteps so ? 
These are my questions three." ■ 

"Whence do I come? I come from God, 

They told me in past years, 
When, once pursued by mocking scorn, 
For father, mother, still unknown, 

I asked with bitter tears. 

" Where do I go ? Naught drives me forth, 

The world is far too wide ; 
Why should I wander here and there ? 
The world, the world is everywhere ; 

Joy dwells on every side. 

"Why do I follow at thy sign ? 

Say, could I rest me ? Never ! 
I pour the w T ine thou drink' st for thee ; 
I asked the task on bended knee ; 

Would it were mine forever !" 

" And now I ask, thou fairest child, 

A fourth last thing of thee ) 
Then will my questioning be o'er. 
Quick ! answer me j I ask no more. 

Say, maiden, lov'st thou me?" 



"FAIR HEDWIGr 181 

At first she stands amazed and mute, 

Then casts around her gaze 
Upon each circling knightly guest ; 
Then folds her hands upon her breast — 

" I love thee," soft she says. 

" But now I know that far away 

I must from hence be gone ; 
In truth, 'tis clear within my breast, 
The veil, since I have this confessed, 

Befits me now alone." 

" And when thou say'st thou com'st from God, 

I feel thou speak' st aright; 
His dearest child, I lead thee forth, 
In spite of scorn and hate, my troth 

At altar foot to plight. 

" Unto the chapel, noble guests, 

I pray you follow me. 
Brave knights and proud, ye, at my call, 
Come hither to a festival ; 

My fairest it shall be." 

Hebbel. 

i 6* 



IN THE GRAVEYARD. 

FROM THE GERMAN OF VOGL, 
Beim Todtengraber pocht es an. 

" Gray gravedigger, come out, come out !" 
Thus at the door came knock and shout. 

"Take now thy staff and come," one cries ; 
" Must show me where a dear grave lies." 

A bearded stranger speaketh there, 
Embrowned and rough with warlike air. 

" How name you the beloved dead 
That I within the grave have laid?" 

"It is my mother ; thou hast not 
The face of Martha's son forgot?" 

" God help us ; thou'rt so tall and brown, 
Thy face I never would have known." 

( 182) 



IN THE GRAVEYARD. ^3 

<l But come, my friend, come here with me, 
This is the spot thou fain wouldst see." 

" With sod and stone above her breast, 
Thy mother lieth here at rest." 

The soldier stands ; no word is said ; 
Upon his breast he bows his head. 

He stands and looks, with tear-dimmed eyes, 
On that dear grave that lowly lies ; 

Then slow he speaks, and shakes his head : 
" Thou'rt wrong — here sleepeth not my dead. 

"This space so narrow, small, and cold, 
A mother's love could never hold." 



TRANSLATIONS 
FROM THE FRENCH. 



LINES WRITTEN IN A COPY OF 
THE DIVINA COMMEDIA. 

Un soir, dans le chemin je vis passer un homme. 

He passed at twilight hour my steps before, 
Draped in the garb the Roman Consuls wore ; 
Black seemed its folds beneath the twilight skies. 
This passer stopped, and fixed on me his eyes : 
So bright, so deep, half savage seemed their ray. 
He said : " First, in the ages passed away, 
I was a mountain towering to the stars ; 
Then burst my blinded soul its prison bars, 
I rose one step on Being's mighty stair. 
I was an oak — had altars, priests, and prayer, 
And to the winds I made mysterious moan. 
A lion next was I, in deserts lone, 
Speaking to Night in accents fierce as flame. 
I am a man now — Dante is my name." 

Victor Hugo. 

(184) 



TO A TRAVELER. 

Ami, vous revenez d'un de ces longs voyages. 

From one of those long journeys you return 
That make us old and us to sages turn, 

Scarce from our cradle come. 
Each ocean saw your wandering shadow pass, 
And you have girdled all the world, alas ! 

With your ship's track of foam. 

Your life has ripened under twenty skies, 
Led only by your will's inconstancies, 

You plucked or from you cast. 
Like to the laborers who reap and sow, 
Something you grasped, and of yourself let go 

Something, where'er you passed. 

Whilst I, your friend, less happy and less wise, 
Saw seasons pass beneath the self-same skies ; 

And, like the verdant tree 
That shades my home, my life beside this door 
Has taken root, my days here evermore 

Fall like dead leaves from me. 

(185) 



jS6 to a traveler. 

You've seen so much of mankind, you are weary 
And worn out with that contemplation dreary, 

To God your thoughts aspire. 
You sadly tell me of your fruitless toil, 
While of three worlds your feet have mixed the soil 

With ashes of my fire. 

And now, your heart full of dreams deep and rare, 
Your hands upon my children's golden hair, 

You question me anew. 
Thus mournfully your anxious queries run : 
" Where are thy parents, and where is thy son ?" 

Oh, friend, they journey too ! 

No sun nor moon above their path shall shine ; 
So jealous is the Master, all resign 

Their treasures at his call. 
Far off and limitless the path they go, 
With mournful faces and with footsteps slow, 

And we must follow all. 

I saw you leave us, friend, and even so 
I saw them all at divers seasons go ; 

They one by one took flight. 
Now I have laid those dear heads 'neath the clay ; 
I, miser-like, have buried deep away 

My treasures from the light. 



TO A TRAVELER. 187 

I saw them go ! I, weak and full of fears, 

Saw thrice a black cloth sprinkled with white tears, 

This corridor enfold. 
On their cold hands I, like a woman, wept ; 
Yet my soul saw their souls, while cold they slept, 

Open their wings of gold. 

I saw them go, as swallows swift take wing 
To seek new summers and more faithful spring 

Upon a far-off shore. 
My mother first went, first beheld the skies : 
And a strange glory lit her dying eyes, 

A light unseen before. 

My first-born followed, then my father went ; 
Full forty years of war their snows had lent 

To age his veteran brow. 
And now they sleep amid the shadows gray, 
The while their souls pass on their somber way, 

And go where we must go. 

And when the moon has set we, if you will, 
When night has come, will both ascend the hill 

Where our departed rest. 
And I will ask, while you behold displayed 
The cities of the sleeping and the dead, 

Which of them sleep the best ? 



1 88 TO A TRAVELER. 

Come, silent both, we each shall bend an ear 
Prone on the earth, and we shall surely hear 

(While Paris slumbers *st ill) 
The million dead, the harvest of the tomb, 
Like grain within the furrow, in the gloom 

Stir with confused thrill. 

How many joyous live who still should weep 
Over their dear ones who eternal sleep. 

Oh, might of years that pass ! 
The dead endure not, leave them in their gloom, 
They fall to dust less quickly in the tomb, 

Than in our hearts, alas ! 

O traveler ! our madness who can say ? 

Who knows the dead that men forget each day ? 

The best-loved leave no trace. 
Who knows how quickly human grief may pass ? 
How many graves one day of growing grass 

May from the earth efface ? 

Victor Hugo. 



GASTIBELZA. 



Gastibelza l'homme a la carabine 
Chantait ainsi. 



'Twas Gastibelza with the carabine 

Who sang one day, 
Knows any one of you the fair Sabine, 

My lady gay ? 
Peasants, the night creeps o'er the Mount Falov, 

Dance, sing, be glad — 
The wind that comes across the mountain-tops 

Will drive me mad. 

Knows any of the dwellers here Sabine, 

My fair Senora ? 
Her mother was the ancient Maugrabine 

Of Antiquera. 
Who, like an owl, shrieked nightly in yon tower, 

Gray, ivy-clad — 
The wind that comes across the mountain-tops 

Will drive me mad. 

Yes, dance and sing, enjoy the fleeting good 
The hour has brought. 

17 (189) 



9 o GASTIBELZA. 



She was so young, the joy within her eyes 

Awakened thought. 
Give something to that old man with the child. 

Those beggars sad — 
The wind that comes across the mountain-tops 

Will drive me mad. 

Near her, in truth, the queen would ugly seem 

When she, one day, 
Passed o'er Toledo's bridge at eventide 

In plain array. 
Around her neck an antique rosary 

That day she had — 
The wind that comes across the mountain-tops 

Will drive me mad. 

The king, who saw her, to his nephew said, 

(She was so fair) : 
" For but one smile from her, one single kiss, 

One silken hair, 
To give Peru and Spain, O prince Don Ruy, 

I would be glad ! ' ' 
The wind that comes across the mountain-tops 

Will drive me mad. 

I know not if I loved this lady — yet 
This I can say : 



GASTIBELZA. 191 



That I, poor dog, to win from her one glance 

Of soul-born ray, 
I would have served a galley-slave ten years, 

And still been glad — 
The wind that comes across the mountain-tops 

Will drive me mad. 

One day when all was sweetness, light, and life, 

One summer day, 
She and her sister to the river came 

To sport and play. 
And at her sister's foot and her white knee 

One glance I had — 
The wind that comes across the mountain-tops 

Will drive me mad. 

'Tis growing dark, O peasants, dance and sing ! 

Sabine, I'm told, 
Her dovelike beauty and her love one day 

All— all she sold, 
Just for a jewel, for the golden ring 

Count Saldayne had — 
The wind that comes across the mountain-tops 

Will drive me mad. 

Allow me, pray, to lean against this bench, 
For I am weary ; 



192 GASTIBELZA. 



She fled then with this Count, alas, she fled ! 

My tale is dreary. 
Over the road that leads to La Cerdayne 

No trace we had — 
The wind that comes across the mountain-tops 

Will drive me mad. 

I saw her pass my dwelling, that was all ; 

And now each day, 
Each hour, in weariness and in disgust 

Passes away. 
My sword hangs on the wall, I idly dream, 

My soul is sad — 
The wind that comes across the mountain-tops 

Has driv'n me mad. 

Victor Hugo. 



A LEGEND OF THE CENTURIES. 

Au commencement, Dieu vit un jour dans l'espace. 

In the beginning God beheld one day 

Iblis approach him: " Seek'st thou pardon ?" 

"Nay," 
Answered the Evil. " Then, what wouldst thou have ?' ' 
The fiend, enrobed in night, this answer gave : 
"Let us each strive to make the fairest thing." 
" Lo ! I consent," said the Eternal King. 
" I'll," said the rebel, " change what thou hast wrought; 
Thou shalt give life to that which I have brought, 
And each shall breathe his genius on the thing 
The other one, his opponent, shall bring." 
" So be it ; take — what wouldst thou ?' ' Thus God said. 
11 Give me the stag's horns and the horse's head." 
" Take ;" but the monster hesitated still — 
" The antelope's horns were better. " " Have thy will. " 
He sought his cave and wrought, then raised his brow : 
< ' Hast done already ? " " No ! " " What wouldst thou 

now?" 
" The elephant's eyes, O King, the bull's strong neck." 
" Take." And again the crawler spake : "I seek 

( *93) 



194 



A LEGEND OF THE CENTURIES. 



The ostrich's swift foot, the crab's smooth shell, 

The serpent's rings, the chamois' thighs as well." 

" Take." And as bees move in their guarded cell, 

Were heard strange passings to and fro in Hell. 

No gaze could pierce the hiding cloud to know 

What work was done in that dark cave below. 

Suddenly Iblis turned to God and spake : 

" Give me the hue of gold," and God said, " Take !" 

And, roaring like a bull led to be slain, 

The demon bent him to his work again. 

The hammers strange tempestuous lightnings shed, 

His eyes like furnaces flamed in his head, 

The fire rushed from his nostrils with the roar 

Of those great floods that desolate the shore 

In the pale season when the storks take wing. 

God said, "What needst thou still?" "The tiger's 

spring. ' ' 
"Take !" said the Being, with supreme disdain. 
"Aid me!" cried Iblis to the hurricane. 
The forge flamed ; from his brow the great drops fell ; 
Writhing, he bent, and, 'neath the vaults of Hell, 
Naught could be seen except a dull red glow 
Purpling the demon workman's fearful brow. 
The hurricane, a fiend, too, aided. Then there came 
Again that Voice from out the heights supreme : 
" What wouldst thou more ?' ' The mighty pariah said, 
Lifting his monstrous, melancholy head : 



A LEGEND OF THE CENTURIES. 



195 



"The lion's chest, the eagle's wing;" and, lo ! 

From out His elements, God cast below 

To him who forged pride and rebellion 

The eagle's wing, the broad chest of the lion. 

The demon recommenced his secret task. 

" What hydra shapes he then ?" the pale stars ask : 

The world awaited, grave and full of care, 

The giant this colossus was to bear. 

Sudden was heard, amidst sepulchral Night, 

The last death-rattle of exhausted might. 

Etna, grim workshop of the toiler curst, 

Flamed, and asunder Hell's vast ceiling burst, 

And, 'mid a pallid, supernatural light, 

Iblis flung forth the grasshopper to sight. 

The fearful cripple, winged and yet lame, 

Beheld his work and saw it without shame — 

Abortion being the custom of the shade. 

From the eternal wreck he raised his head ; 

Crossing his arms, he cried, with arrogant brow 

And sneering laugh, " Master, 'tis Thy turn now !" 

And he who dared for God to spread a snare 

Continued : " Thou hast given what was most rare 

In elephant and ostrich, and, behold ! 

To gild the whole, Thou gav'st the hue of gold — 

The choicest gifts of eagle, horse, and snake ; 

And now material for what Thou shalt make, 



196 A LEGEND OF THE CENTURIES.. 

I give Thee, in my turn. Lo ! it is here." 
God, for whom e'en the plots of Hell are clear, 
Held forth His awful Hand, all bathed in light, 
And Iblis gave the spider from the night. 

God took the spider — placed it far and high 

In the dim vault that was not yet the sky ; 

Then on the animal He fixed His gaze, 

Dread with the splendor of supernal rays. 

The monster, late so small, beneath His eyes 

Grew suddenly to vast and wondrous size, 

But the Eternal gaze changed not the while. 

A strange dawn wandered o'er the creature vile, 

The frightful form a lustrous globe became, 

The knotted claws were changed to orbs oT flame, 

The outstretched legs to rays of light were turned, 

And through the shadows blinding splendors burned. 

Dazzled, the demon crouched — the work was done — 

And of the spider God had made the SUN ! 

Victor Hugo. 






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